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Madame Roland 



Frontispiece 

The Bread Riots. 



{Seep. 152.) 



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ALTEA\US' YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY 



HISTORY 



or 



nne. ROLAND 



BY 



c^ar.r. -te-ve. 



(JACOB ABBOTT 



WITH rORTY-TWO ILLUSTR 




Copyright 1900 by Henry Altemus Company 



PHILADELPHIA 



HENRY ALTE/nUS CO/nPANY 






III 

ill 



v. 




IWI 




53132 




SEP 28 1900 

. C«ty"ght onfry 

StCOND COPV. 

Lt)«-(lver«1 to 
OfvOti? DIVISION, 
OCT 16 1900 



.Moo 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER I. PAGE 

Childhood 7 

CHAPTER 11. 
Youth 26 

CHAPTER III. 
Maidenhood . . . . . .46 

CHAPTER IV. 
Marriage .67 

CHAPTER V. 
The National Assembly . . . .89 

CHAPTER VI. 
The Ministry of M. Roland . . .110 

CHAPTER VII. 
Madame Roland and the Jacobins . 131 

CHAPTER VIII. 
Last Struggles of the Girondists . .152 

CHAPTER IX. 
Arrest of Madame Roland . . .173 

CHAPTER X. 
Fate of the Girondists . . . .194 

CHAPTER XL 
Prison Life 218 

CHAPTER XII. 
Trial and Execution of Madame Roland . 239 

(v) 




^^--^-^^^'^^- 



Madame Boland, vi 

Enrolling Volunteers for the National Guard. 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



The Bread Riots .... 


Frontispiece. 


Enrolling Volunteers for the National Guard, page vi 


Jean Paul Marat .... 




' viii 


Madame Roland . . . . 


, ' 


' X 


Headpiece, Chapter I. . . . 


( 


' 7 


The Boulevards of Paris 


facing ' 


' i6 


Uniforms and Colors of the National Guard, . ' 


' 25 


Headpiece, Chapter II. 




' 26 


The National Assembly 


facing ' 


' 28 


Salon of an Aristocrat . 


. ' 


' 45 


Headpiece, Chapter III, 


. ' 


' 46 


Maximilien Marie Isidore Robespierre, 


facing ' 


' 48 


Headpiece, Chapter IV. 


. ' 


' 67 


George Jacques Danton 


facing ' 


' 64 


Louis XVI. and the Mob 


U ( 


' 96 


Jean Marie Roland de la Platiere . 




' 88 


Headpiece, Chapter V. 




' 89 


The Tuilleries .... 


, . ' 


' 109 


Headpiece, Chapter VI. 


. ' 


' no 


Sacking the House of a Royalist . 


facing ' 


' 104 


Danton in the Assembly 


" ' 


' 120 


The Prussians Marching on Paris . 




' 130 


Headpiece, Chapter VII. 


. ' 


' 131 


The Tribunal of Maillard . 


facing ' 


' 128 


The Convent of the Jacobins 




'151 


Headpiece, Chapter VIII. . 




' 152 



(vii) 



Vlll 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



Marat in the Assembly . 

A Jacobin Mob . 

Headpiece, Chapter IX. 

Church of St. Jacques de la Boucherie 

The Guillotine , . . . 

HeadjDiece, Chapter X. 

The Last Night of the Girondists . 

Execution of a Royalist 

Headpiece, Chapter XL 

The Girondists Going to Execution, 

The Conciergerie 

Headpiece, Chapter XII. 

Mme. Roland Leaving the Conciergerie, 

Finding the Dead Body of M. Roland 



facing 



facing page i6o 

" 172 

" 168 

" 193 

" 194 

facing "184 

. "217 

. " 218 

facing "224 

'238 

'239 
facing "256 

. " 262 




Madame Iloland, viii 



Jean Paul Marat. 



INTRODUCTORY. 



The marble fountain in the Place de la 
Concorde marks the spot where the pure soul 
of Madame Roland took its flight in the high 
noon of the French Revolution. 

The child of an infidel father and a pious 
mother, without playmates of her own age in 
youth, she held intercourse with maturer minds 
and made books her constant companions. 
Her marriage made her the queen of a coterie 
of young and eloquent enthusiasts that in- 
cluded all the leaders of the Gironde — the in- 
spiring genius of the most influential and elo- 
quent party which had arisen amid the storms 
of the Revolution. 

The Girondists went down before the fury of 
the Jacobins in their reckless onset upon 
everything made venerable by time, and then 
the woman whose talents, accomplishments 
and fascinating conversational eloquence had 
spread her renown over all Europe perished on 
the guillotine at the hands of a capricious, in- 
solent and degraded mob. 

(ix) 




Madame Roland, x 



Madame Roland 




MADAME ROLAND. 



CHAPTER I. 



CHILDHOOD. 

MAiiTY characters of unusual grandeur were 
developed by the French Revolution. Among 
them all, there are few more illustrious, or 
more worthy of notice, than that of Madame 
Roland. The eventful story of her life con- 
tains much to inspire the mind with admiration 
and with enthusiasm, and to stimulate one to 
live worthily of those capabilities with which 
every human heart is endowed. No person 
can read the record of her lofty spirit and of 
her heroic acts without a higher appreciation 
of woman^s power, and of the mighty influence 
one may wield, who combines the charms of a 
noble and highly-cultivated mind with the fas- 
cinations of female delicacy and loveliness. To 
understand the secret of the almost miraculous 
influence she exerted, it is necessary to trace 
her career, with some degree of minuteness, 

7 



8 MADAME ROLAND. 

from the cradle to the hour of her sublime and 
heroic death. 

In the year 1754, there was living, in an ob- 
scure workshop in Paris, on the crowded Quai 
des Orfevres, an engraver by the name of Gra- 
tien Phlippon. He had married a very beau- 
tiful woman, whose placid temperament and 
cheerful content contrasted strikingly with the 
restlessness and ceaseless repinings of her hus- 
band. The comfortable yet humble apartments 
of the engraver were over the shop where he 
plied his daily toil. He was much dissatisfied 
with his lowly condition in life, and that his 
family, in the enjoyment of frugal competence 
alone, were debarred from those luxuries which 
were so profusely showered upon others. Bit- 
terly and unceasingly he murmured that his lot 
had been cast in the ranks of obscurity and of 
unsparing labor, while others, by a more fortu- 
nate, although no better merited destiny, were 
born to ease and affluence, and honor and lux- 
ury. This thought of the unjust inequality in 
man's condition, which soon broke forth with 
all the volcanic energy of the French Revolu- 
tion, already began to ferment in the bosoms of 
the laboring classes, and no one pondered these 
wide diversities with a more restless spirit, or 
murmured more loudly and more incessantly 
than Phlippon. When the day's toil was 
ended, he loved to gather around him asso- 



CHILDHOOD. 9 

ciates whose feelings harmonized with his own, 
and to descant upon their own grievous oppres- 
sion, and upon the arrogance of aristocratic 
greatness. With an eloquence which often 
deeply moved his sympathizing auditory, and 
fanned to greater intensity the fires which were 
consuming his own hearty he contrasted their 
doom of sleepless labor and of comparative 
penury with the brilliance of the courtly 
throng, living in idle luxury, and squander- 
ing millions in the amusements at Versailles, 
and sweeping in charioted splendor through the 
Champs Elysee. 

Phlippon was a philosopher, not a Christian. 
Submission was a virtue he had never learned, 
and never wished to learn. Christianity, as he 
saw it developed before him only in the power- 
ful enginery of the Eoman Catholic Church, 
was, in his view, but a formidable barrier 
against the liberty and the elevation of the peo- 
ple — a bulwark, bristling with superstition and 
bayonets, behind which nobles and kings were 
securely intrenched. He consequently became 
as hostile to the doctrines of the Church as he 
was to the institutions of the state. The mon- 
arch was, in his eye, a tyrant, and God a delu- 
sion. The enfranchisement of the people, in 
his judgment, required the overthrow of both 
the earthly and the celestial monarch. In 
these ideas, agitating the heart of Phlippon 



10 MADAME ROLAND. 

behold the origin of the French Eevolution. 
They were diffused in pamphlets and daily 
papers in theaters and cajes. They were urged 
by workmen in their shops, by students in 
their closets. They became the inspiring spirit 
of science in encyclopedias and reviews, and 
formed the chorus in all the songs of revelry 
and libertinism. These sentiments spread 
from heart to heart, through Paris, through 
the provinces, till France rose like a demon in 
its wrath, and the very globe trembled beneath 
its gigantic and indignant tread. 

Madame Phlippon was just the reverse of her 
husband. She was a woman in whom faith, 
and trust, and submission predominated. She 
surrendered her will, without questioning, to all 
the teachings of the Church of Eome. She was 
placid, contented, and cheerful, and, though un- 
inquiring in her devotion, undoubtedly sincere 
in her piety. In every event of life she recog- 
nized the overruling hand of Providence, and 
feeling that the comparatively humble lot as- 
signed her was in accordance with the will of 
God, she indulged in no repinings, and envied 
not the more brilliant destiny of lords and la- 
dies. An industrious housewife, she hummed 
the hymns of contentment and peace from 
morning till evening. In the cheerful perform- 
ance of her daily toil, she was ever pouring 
the balm of her peaceful spirit upon the rest- 



CHILDHOOD. 11 

less heart of her spouse. Phlippon loved his 
wife, and often felt the superiority of her 
Christian temperament. 

Of eight children born to these parents, one 
only, Jeanne Manon, or Jane Mary, survived 
the hour of birth. Her father first received 
her to his arms in 1754, and she became the ob- 
ject of his painful and most passionate adora- 
tion. Her mother pressed the coveted treas- 
ure to her bosom with maternal love, more 
calm, and deep, and enduring. And now Jane 
became the central star in this domestic sys- 
tem. Both parents lived in her and for her. 
She was their earthly all. The mother wished 
to train her for the Church and for heaven, 
that she might become an angel and dwell by 
the throne of God. These bright hopes gilded 
a prayerful mother's hours of toil and care. 
The father bitterly repined. Why should his 
bright and beautiful child — who even in these 
her infantile years was giving indication of the 
most brilliant intellect — why should she be 
doomed to a life of obscurity and toil, while 
the garden of the Tuileries and the Elysian 
Fields were thronged with children, neither so 
beautiful nor so intelligent, who were reveling 
in boundless wealth, and living in the world of 
luxury and splendor which, to Phlippon's im- 
agination, seemed more alluring than any idea 
he could form of heaven ? These thoughts 



12 MADAME ROLAND. 

were a consuming fire in the bosom of the am* 
bitious father. They burned with inextinguish- 
able flame. 

The fond parent made the sprightly and fas- 
cinating child his daily companion. He led 
her by the hand, and confided to her infantile 
spirit all his thoughts, his illusions, his day- 
dreams. To her listening ear he told the story 
of the arrogance of nobles, of the pride of kings, 
and of the oppression by which he deemed him- 
self unjustly doomed to a life of penury and 
toil. The light-hearted child was often weary 
of these complainings, and turned for relief to 
the placidity and cheerfulness of her mother's 
mind. Here she found repose — a soothing, 
calm, and holy submission. Still the gloom of 
her father's spirit cast a pensive shade over her 
own feelings, and infused a tone of melancholy 
and an air of unnatural reflection into her 
character. By nature, Jane was endowed with 
a soul of unusual delicacy. From early child- 
hood, all that is beautiful or sublime in nature, 
in literature, in character, had charms to rivet 
her entranced attention. She loved to sit alone 
at her chamber window in the evening of a 
summer's day, to gaze upon the gorgeous hues 
of sunset. As her imagination roved through 
those portals of a brighter world, which seemed 
thus, through far-reaching vistas of glory, to 
be opened to her, she peopled the sun-lit ex- 



CHILDHOOD. 13 

panse with the creations of her own fancy, and 
often wept in uncontrollable emotion through 
the influence of these gathering thoughts. 
Books of impassioned poetry, and descriptions 
of heroic character and achievements, were her 
especial delight. Plutarch's Lives, that book 
which, more than any other, appears to be the 
incentive of early genius, was hid beneath her 
pillow, and read and re-read with tireless avid- 
ity. Those illustrious heroes of antiquity be- 
came the companions of her solitude and of 
her hourly thoughts. She adored them and 
loved them as her own most intimate personal 
friends. Her character became insensibly 
molded to their forms, and she was inspired 
with restless enthusiasm to imitate their deeds. 
When but twelve years of age, her father found 
her, one day, weeping that she was not born a 
Eoman maiden. Little did she then imagine 
that, by talent, by suffering, and by heroism, 
she was to display a character the history of 
which would eclipse the proudest narratives in 
Greek or Eoman story. 

Jane appears never to have known the friv- 
olity and thoughtlessness of childhood. Be* 
fore she had entered the fourth year of her age 
she knew how to read. From that time her 
thirst for reading was so great, that her parents 
found no little difficulty in furnishing her with 
a sufficient supply. She not only read with 



14 MADAME EOLAND. 

eagerness every book which met her eye, but 
pursued this uninterrupted miscellaneous read- 
ing to singular advantage, treasuring up all 
important facts in her retentive memory. So 
entirely absorbed was she in her books, that 
the only successful mode of withdrawing her 
from them was by offering her flowers, of 
which she was passionately fond. Books and 
flowers continued, through all the vicissitudes 
of her life, even till the hour of her death, to 
aflord her the most exquisite pleasure. She 
had no playmates, and thought no more of 
play than did her father and mother, who were 
her only and her constant companions. From 
infancy she was accustomed to the thoughts 
and the emotions of mature minds. In personal 
appearance she was, in earliest childhood and 
through life, peculiarly interesting rather than 
beautiful. As mature years perfected her fea- 
tures and her form, there was in the contour 
of her graceful figure and her intellectual 
countenance, that air of thoughtfulness, of 
pensiveness, of glowing tenderness and delicacy, 
which gave her a power of fascination over all 
hearts. She sought not this power ; she 
thought not of it ; but an almost resistless at- 
traction and persuasion accompanied all her 
words and actions. 

It was, perhaps, the absence of playmates, 
and the habitual converse with mature minds. 



CHILDHOOD. 15 

which, at so early an age, inspired Jane with 
that insatiate thirst for knoAvledge which she 
ever manifested. Books were her only resource 
in every unoccupied hour. From her walks 
with her father, and her domestic employments 
with her mother, she turned to her little library 
and to her chamber window, and lost herself in 
the limitless realms of thought, It is often im- 
agined that character is the result of accident 
— that there is a native and inherent tendency, 
which triumphs over circumstances, and works 
out its own results. Without denying that 
there may be different intellectual gifts with 
which the soul may be endowed as it comes 
from the hand of the Creator, it surely is not 
difficult to perceive that the peculiar training 
through which the childhood of Jane was con- 
ducted was calculated to form the peculiar 
character which she developed. 

In a bright summer's afternoon she might be 
seen sauntering along the Boulevards, led by 
her father's hand, gazing upon that scene of 
gaiety with which the eye is never wearied. 
A gilded coach, drawn by the most beautiful 
horses in the richest trappings, sweeps along 
the streets — a gorgeous vision. Servants in 
showy livery, and out-riders proudly mounted, 
invest the spectacle with a degree of grandeur 
beneath which the imagination of a child sinks 
exhausted. Phlippon takes his little daughter 



16 MADAME ROLAND. 

in his arms to show her the sight, and, as she 
gazes in infantile wonder and delight, the dis- 
contented father says, ^^ Look at that lord, and 
lady, and child, lolling so yoluptuously in their 
coach. They have no right there. Why must 
I and my child walk on this hot pavement, 
while they repose on velvet cushions and revel 
in all luxury ? Oppressive laws compel me to 
pay a portion of my hard earnings to support 
them in their pride and indolence. But a time 
will come when the people will awake to the 
consciousness of their wrongs, and their tyrants 
will tremble before them." He continues his 
walk in moody silence, brooding over his sense 
of injustice. They return to their home. Jane 
wishes that her father kept a carriage, and liv- 
eried servants and out-riders. She thinks of 
politics, and of the tyranny of kings and nobles, 
and of the unjust inequalities of man. She re- 
tires to the solitude of her loved chamber win- 
dow, and reads of Aristides the Just, of The- 
mistocles with his Spartan virtues, of Brutus, 
and of the mother of the Gracchi. Greece and 
Rome rise before her in all their ancient re- 
nown. She despises the frivolity of Paris, the 
effeminacy of the moderns, and her youthful 
bosom throbs with the desire of being noble in 
spirit and of achieving great exploits. Thus, 
when other children of her age were playing 
with their dolls, she was dreaming of the pros- 



CHILDHOOD. 17 

tration of nobles and of the overthrow of 
thrones — of liberty, and fraternity, and equality 
among mankind. Strange dreams for a child, 
but still more strange in their fulfilment. 

The infidelity of her father and the piety of 
her mother contended, like counter currents of 
the ocean, in her bosom. Her active intellect 
and love of freedom sympathized with the spec- 
ulations of the so-called philosopher. Her ami- 
able and affectionate disposition and her pensive 
meditations led her to seek repose in the sub- 
lime conceptions and in the soul-soothing con- 
solations of the Christian. Her parents were 
deeply interested in her education, and were 
desirous of giving her every advantage for se- 
curing the highest attainments. The educa- 
tion of young ladies, at that time, in France, 
was conducted almost exclusively by nuns in 
convents. The idea of the silence and solitude 
of the cloister inspired the highly-imaginative 
girl with a blaze of enthusiasm. Fondly as she 
loved her home, she was impatient for the hour 
to arrive when, with heroic self-sacrifice, she 
could withdraw from the world and its pleas- 
ures, and devote her whole soul to devotion, to 
meditation, and to study Her mother's spirit 
of religion was exerting a powerful influence 
over her, and one evening she fell at her feet, 
and, bursting into tears, besought that she 
might be sent to a convent to prepare to receive 



18 MADAME ROLAND. 

her first Christian conimunion in a suitable 
frame of mind. 

The convent of the sisterhood of the Con- 
gregation in Paris was selected for Jane. In 
the review of her life which she subsequently 
wrote while immured in the dungeons of the 
Conciergerie, she says, in relation to this event, 
*' While pressing my dear mother in my arms, 
at the moment of parting with her for the first 
time in my life, I thought my heart would 
have broken ; but I was acting in obedience to 
the voice of God, and I passed the threshold 
of the cloister, tearfully offering up to him the 
greatest sacrifice I was capable of making. 
This was on the 7th of May, 1765, when I was 
eleven years and two months old. In the 
gloom of a prison, in the midst of political 
storms which ravage my country, and sweep 
away all that is dear to me, how shall I recall 
to my mind, and how describe the rapture and 
tranquillity I enjoyed at this period of my life ? 
What lively colors can express the soft emo- 
tions of a young heart endued with tenderness 
and sensibility, greedy of happiness, beginning 
to be alive to the beauties of nature, and per- 
ceiving the Deity alone ? The first night I 
spent in the convent was a night of agitation. 
I was no longer under the paternal roof. I 
was at a distance from that kind mother, who 
was doubtless thinking of me with affectionate 



CHILDHOOD. 19 

emotion. A dim light diffused itself through 
the room in which I had been put to bed with 
four children of my own age. I stole softly 
from my couch, and drew near the window, 
the light of the moon enabling me to distin- 
guish the garden, which it overlooked. The 
deepest silence prevailed around, and I listened 
to it, if I may use the expression, with a sort 
of respect. Lofty trees cast their gigantic 
shadows along the ground, and promised a 
secure asylum to peaceful meditation. I lifted 
up my eyes to the heavens ; they were un- 
clouded and serene. I imagined that I felt 
the presence of the Deity smiling upon my 
sacrifice, and already offering me a reward in 
the consolatory hope of a celestial abode. 
Tears of delight flowed down my cheeks. I 
repeated my vows with holy ecstacy, and went 
to bed again to taste the slumber of God's 
chosen children." 

Her thirst for knowledge was insatiate, and 
with untiring assiduity she pursued her studies. 
Every hour of the day had its appropriate 
employment, and time flew upon its swiftest 
wings. Every book which fell in her way she 
eagerly perused, and treasured its knowledge 
or its literary beauties in her memory. Her- 
aldry and books of romance, lives of the saints 
and fairy legends, biography, travels, history, 
political philosophy, poetry, and treatises upon 



20 MADAME ROLAND. 

morals, were all read and meditated upon by 
this young child. She had no taste for any 
childish amusements ; and in the hours of 
recreation, when the mirthful girls around her 
were forgetting study and care in those games 
appropriate to their years, she would walk 
alone in the garden, admiring the flowers, and 
gazing upon the fleecy clouds in the sky. In 
all the beauties of nature her eye ever recog- 
nized the hand of God, and she ever took 
pleasure in those sublime thoughts of infinity 
and eternity which must engross every noble 
mind. Her teachers had but little to do. 
Whatever study she engaged in was pursued 
with such spontaneous zeal, that success had 
crowned her efforts before others had hardly 
made a beginning. 

In music and drawing she made great profi- 
ciency. She was even more fond of all that is 
beautiful and graceful in the accomplishments 
of a highly-cultivated mind, than in those more 
solid studies which she nevertheless pursued 
with so much energy and interest. 

The scenes which she witnessed in the con- 
vent were peculiarly calculated to produce an 
indelible impression upon a mind so imagina- 
tive. The chapel for prayer, with its somber 
twilight and its dimly-burning tapers ; the 
dirges which the organ breathed upon the 
trembling ear ; the imposing pageant of prayer 



CHILDHOOD. 21 

and praise, with the blended costumes of 
monks and hooded nuns ; the knell which 
tolled the requiem of a departed sister, as, in 
the gloom of night and by the light of torches, 
she was conveyed to her burial — all these con- 
comitants of that system of pageantry, arranged 
so skilfully to impress the senses of the young 
and the imaginative, fanned to the highest 
elevation the flames of that poetic temperament 
she so eminently possessed. 

God thus became in Jane's mind a vision of 
poetic beauty. Religion was the inspiration of 
enthusiasm and of sentiment. The worship of 
the Deity was blended with all that was enno- 
bling and beautiful. Moved by these glowing 
fancies, her susceptible spirit, in these tender 
years, turned away from atheism, from infidel- 
ity, from irreligion, as from that which was 
unrefined, revolting, vulgar. The conscious- 
ness of the presence of God, the adoration of 
his being, became a passion of her soul. This 
state of mind was poetry, not religion. It in- 
volved no sense of the spirituality of the Divine 
Law, no consciousness of unworthiness, no 
need of a Saviour. It was an emotion sublime 
and beautiful, yet merely such an emotion as 
any one of susceptible temperament might feel 
when standing in the Vale of Chamouni at 
midnight, or when listening to the crash of 
thunder as the tempest wrecks the sky, or 



22 MADAME EOLAND. 

when one gazes entranced upon the fair face 
of nature in a mild and lovely morning of 
June, when no cloud appears in the blue 
canopy above us, and no breeze ruffles the 
leaves of the grove or the glassy surface of the 
lake, and the songs of birds and the perfume 
of flowers fill the air. Many mistake the 
highly poetic enthusiasm which such scenes 
excite for the spirit of piety. 

While Jane was an inmate of the convent, 
a very interesting young lady, from some dis- 
appointment weary of the world, took the veil. 
When one enters a convent with the intention 
of becoming a nun, she first takes the white 
veil, which is an expression of her intention, 
and thus enters the grade of a novice. During 
the period of her novitiate, which continues for 
several months, she is exposed to the severest 
discipline of vigils, and fastings, and solitude, 
and prayer, that she may distinctly understand 
the life of weariness and self-denial upon which 
she has entered. If, unintimidated by these 
hardships, she still persists in her determin- 
ation, she then takes the black veil, and utters 
her solemn and irrevocable vows to bury her- 
self in the gloom of the cloister, never again to 
emerge. From this step there is no return. 
The throbbing heart, which neither cowls nor 
veils can still, finds in the taper-lighted cell its 
living tomb, till it sleeps in death. No one 



CHILDHOOD. 23 

with even an ordinary share of sensibility can 
witness a ceremony involving such conse- 
quences without the deepest emotion. The 
scene produced an effect upon the spirit of 
Jane which was never effaced. The wreath of 
flowers which crowned the beautiful victim ; 
the veil enveloping her person ; the solemn and 
dirge-like chant, the requiem of her burial to 
all the pleasures of sense and time ; the pall 
which overspread her, emblematic of her con- 
signment to a living tomb, all so deeply affected 
the impassioned child, that, burying her face 
in her hands, she wept with uncontrollable 
emotion. 

The thought of the magnitude of the sacrifice 
which the young novice was making appealed 
irresistibly to her admiration of the morally 
sublime. There was in that relinquishment of 
all the joys of earth a self-surrender to a pas- 
sionless life of mortification, and penance, and 
prayer, an apparent heroism, which reminded 
Jane of her much-admired Eoman maidens 
and matrons. She aspired with most romantic 
ardor to do, herself, something great and noble. 
While her sound judgment could not but con- 
demn this abandonment of life, she was inspired 
with the loftiest enthusiasm to enter, in some 
worthy way, upon a life of endurance, of sacri- 
fice, and of martyrdom. She felt that she was 
born for the performance of some great deeds. 



24 MADAME KOLAND. 

and she looked down with contempt upon all 
the ordinary vocations of every-day life. These 
were the dreams of a romantic girl. They were 
not, however, the fleeting visions of a sickly 
and sentimental mind, but the deep, soul-mov- 
ing aspirations of one of the strongest intellects 
over which imagination has ever swayed its 
scepter. One is reminded by these early de- 
velopments of character of the remark of 
Napoleon, when some one said, in his presence, 
^^ It is nothing but imagination." ^^ Nothing 
but imagination," replied this sagacious ob- 
server ; '' imaginatioji rules the world I " 

These dim visions of greatness, these lofty 
aspirations, not for renown, but for the inward 
consciousness of intellectual elevation, of moral 
sublimity, of heroism, had no influence, as is, 
ordinarily the case with day-dreams, to give 
Jane a distaste for life's energetic duties. 
They did not enervate her character, or con- 
vert her into a mere visionary ; on the con- 
trary, they but roused and invigorated her to 
alacrity in the discharge of every duty. They 
led her to despise ease and luxury, to rejoice 
in self-denial, and to cultivate, to the highest 
possible degree, all her faculties of body and 
of mind, that she might be prepared for any 
possible destiny. Wild as, at times, her imag- 
inings might have been, her most vivid fancy 
never could have pictured a career so extraor- 



CHILDHOOD. 



25 



dinary as that to which reality introduced 
her ; and in all the annals of ancient story, she 
could find no record of sufferings and priva- 




fe3^f^s;:^^%^^ 



Uniforms and Colors of the National Guard, 
tions more severe than those which she was 
called upon to endure. And neither heroine 
nor hero of any age has shed greater luster 
upon human nature by the cheerful fortitude 
with which adversity has been braved. 




CHAPTER II. 



YOUTH. 



The influence of those intense emotions 
which were excited in the bosom of Jane by 
the scenes which she witnessed in her child- 
hood in the nunnery were never effaced from 
her imaginative mind. Nothing can be con- 
ceived more strongly calculated to impress the 
feelings of a romantic girl, than the poetic at- 
tractions which are thrown around the Eoman 
Catholic religion by nuns, and cloisters, and 
dimly-lighted chapels, and faintly-burning ta- 
pers, and matins, and vespers, and midnight 
dirges. Jane had just the spirit to be most 
deeply captivated by such enchantments. She 
reveled in these imaginings which clustered in 
the dim shades of the cloister, in an ecstacy of 
luxurious enjoyment. The ordinary motives 
which influence young girls of her age seem to 
have had no control over her. Her joys were 
most highly intellectual and spiritual, and her 
aspirations were far above the usual concep- 
tions of childhood. She, for a time, became 
entirely fascinated by the novel scenes around 
26 



YOUTH. 27 

her, and surrendered her whole soul to the 
dominion of the associations with which she 
was engrossed. In subsequent years, by the 
energies of a vigorous philosophy, she disen- 
franchised her intellect from these illusions, 
and, proceeding to another extreme, wandered 
in the midst of the cheerless mazes of unbe- 
lief ; but her fancy retained the traces of these 
early impressions until the hour of her death. 
Christianity, even when most heavily encum- 
bered with earthly corruption, is infinitely pre- 
ferable to no religion at all. Even papacy has 
never swayed so bloody a scepter as infidelity. 
Jane remained in the convent one year, and 
then, with deep regret, left the nuns, to whom 
she had become extremely attached. With one 
of the sisters, who was allied to the nobility, 
she formed a strong friendship, which con- 
tinued through life. For many years she kept 
up a constant correspondence with this friend, 
and to this correspondence she attributes, in a 
great degree, that facility in writing which 
contributed so much to her subsequent celeb- 
rity. This letter-writing is one of the best 
schools of composition, and the parent who is 
emulous of the improvement of his children in 
that respect, will do all in his power to en- 
courage the constant use of the pen in these 
familiar epistles. Thus the most important 
study, the study of the power of expression, is 



28 MADAME BOLAND. 

converted into a pleasure, and is pursued with 
an avidity which will infallibly secure success. 
It is a sad mistake to frown upon such efforts 
as a waste of time. 

AVhile in the convent, she, for the first time, 
partook of 1ihe sacrament of the Lord's Supper. 
Her spirit was most deeply impressed and over- 
awed by the sacredness of the ceremony. Dur- 
ing several weeks previous to her reception of 
this solemn ordinance, by solitude, self-examin- 
ation, and prayer, she endeavored to prepare 
herself for that sacred engagement, which she 
deemed the pledge of her union to God, and of 
her eternal felicity. When the hour arrived, 
her feelings were so intensely excited that she 
wept convulsively, and she was entirely inca- 
pable of walking to the altar. She was borne in 
the arms of two of the nuns. This depth of 
emotion was entirely unaffected, and secured 
for her the peculiar reverence of the sacred 
sisters. 

That spirit of pensive reverie, so dangerous 
and yet so fascinating, to which she loved to 
surrender herself, was peculiarly in harmony 
with all the influences with which she was sur- 
rounded in the convent, and constituted the 
very soul of the piety of its inmates. She was 
encouraged by the commendations of all the 
sisters to deliver her mind up to the dominion 
of these day-dreams, with whose intoxicating 



YOUTH. 29 

power every heart is more or less familiar. She 
loved to retire to the solitude of the cloisters, 
when the twilight was deepening into darkness, 
and alone, with measured steps, to pace to and 
fro. listening to the monotonous echoes of her 
own footfall, which alone disturbed the solemn 
silence. At the tomb of a departed sister she 
would often linger, and, indulging in those 
melancholy meditations which had for her so 
many charms, long for her own departure to 
the bosom of her heavenly Father, where she 
might enjoy that perfect happiness for which, 
at times, her spirit glowed with such intense 
aspirations. 

At the close of the year Jane left the peace- 
ful retreat where she had enjoyed so much, and 
where she had received so many impressions 
never to be effaced. Her parents, engrossed 
with care, were unable to pay that attention to 
their child which her expanding mind required, 
and she was sent to pass her thirteenth year 
with her paternal grandmother and her aunt 
Angelieu. Her grandmother was a dignified 
lady, of much refinement of mind and grace- 
fulness of demeanor, who laid great stress upon 
all the courtesies of life and the elegances of 
manners and address. Her aunt was gentle 
and warm-hearted, and her spirit was deeply 
imbued with that humble and docile piety, 
which has so often shone out with pure luster 

3— Roland 



30 MADAME ROLAND. 

even through all the encumbrances of the 
Roman Catholic Church. With them she spent 
a year, in a seclusion from the world almost as 
entire as that which she found in the solitude 
of the convent. An occasional visit to her 
parents, and to her old friends the nuns, was 
all that interrupted the quiet routine of daily 
duties. Books continued still her employment 
and her delight. Her habits of reverie con- 
tinued unbroken. Her lofty dreams gained a 
daily increasing ascendency over her character. 
She thus continued to dwell in the boundless 
regions of the intellect and the affections. 
Even the most commonplace duties of life 
were rendered attractive to her by investing 
them with a mysterious connection with her 
own limitless being. Absorbed in her own 
thoughts, ever communing with herself, with 
nature, with the Deity, as the object of her 
highest sentiment and aspirations, though she 
did not despise those of a more humble mental 
organization, she gave them not a thought. 
The evening twilight of every fine day still 
found her at her chamber window, admiring 
the glories of the setting sun, and feeding her 
impassioned spirit with those visions of future 
splendor and happiness which the scene ap- 
peared to reveal. She fancied she could 
almost see the wings of angels gleaming in the 
purple sunlight. Through those gorgeous 



YOUTH. 31 

avenues, where clouds were piled on golden 
clouds, she imagined, far away, the mansions 
of the blessed. These emotions glowing within 
her, gave themselves utterance in prayers 
earnest and ardent, while l.he tears oi' irrepres- 
sible feeling filled her eyes as she thought of 
that exalted Being, so worthy of her pure and 
intensest homage. 

The father of Jane was delighted with all 
these indications of a marked and elevated char- 
acter, and did all in his power to stimulate her 
to greater zeal in her lofty studies and medita- 
tions. Jane became his idol, and the more her 
imaginative mind became imbued with the 
spirit of romantic aspirations, the better was 
he pleased. The ardor of her zeal enabled her 
to succeed in everything which she under- 
took. Invincible industry and energy were 
united with these dreams. She was ambitious 
of knowing everything ; and when her father 
placed in her hands the hurin, wishing to teach 
her to engrave, she immediately acquired such 
skill as to astonish both of her parents. And 
she afterward passed many pleasant hours in 
engraving, on highly-polished plates of brass 
beautiful emblems of flowers as tokens of affec- 
tion for her friends. 

The mother of Jane, with far better judg- 
ment, endeavored to call back her daughter 
from that unreal world in which she loved to 



^ MADAME BOLAKD. 

dwell, and to interest her in the practical 
duties of life. She began to be impatient for 
her return home, that she might introduce her 
to those household employments, the knowl- 
edge of which is of such un^eakable impor- 
tance to every lady. In this she was far from 
being unsuccessful ; for while Jane continued 
to dream in accordance with the encourage- 
ment of her father, she also cordially recognized 
the good sense of her mother's counsels, and 
held herself ever in readiness to co-operate 
with her in all her plans. 

A little incident which took place at this 
time strikingly illustrates the reflective ma- 
turity which her character had already acquired. 
Before the French Eevolution, the haughty 
demeanor of the nobility of France assumed 
such an aspect as an American, at the present 
day, can but feebly conceive. One morning, 
the grandmother of Jane, a woman of dignity 
and cultivated mind, took her to the house of 
Madame De Boismorel, a lady of noble rank, 
whose children she had partly educated. It 
was a great event, and Jane was dressed with 
the utmost care to visit the aristocratic man- 
sion. The aspiring girl, with no disposition to 
come down to the level of those beneath her, 
and with still less willingness to do homage to 
those above her, was entirely unconscious of 
the mortifying condescension with which she 



YOUTH. 38 

was to be received. The porter at the door 
saluted Madame Phlippon with politeness, and 
all the servants whom she met in the hall ad- 
dressed her with civility. She replied to each 
with courtesy and with dignity. The grand- 
mother was proud of her granddaughter, and 
the servants paid the young lady many com- 
pliments. The instinctive pride of Jane took 
instant alarm. She felt that servants had no 
right to presume to pay her compliments — that 
they were thus assuming that she was upon 
their level. Alas ! for poor human nature. 
All love to ascend. Few are willing to favor 
equality by stepping down. A tall footman 
announced them at the door of the magnificent 
saloon. All the furnishing and arrangements 
of this aristocratic apartment were calculated 
to dazzle the eye and bewilder the mind of one 
unaccustomed to such splendor. Madame De 
Boismorel, dressed with the most ostentatious 
display of wealth, was seated upon an ottoman, 
in stately dignity, employing her fingers with 
fancy needlework. Her face was thickly 
covered with rouge, and, as her guests were 
announced, she raised her eyes from her em- 
broidery, and fixing a cold and unfeeling 
glance upon them, without rising to receive 
them, or even making the slightest inclination 
of her body, in a very patronizing and con- 
descending tone said to the grandmother, 



34 MADAMEl ROLAND. 

" Ah ! Miss Phlippon, good morning to 
you!" 

Jane, who was far from pleased with her re- 
ception in the hall, was exceedingly displeased 
with her reception in the saloon. The pride 
of the Eoman maiden rose in her bosom, and 
indignantly she exclaimed to herself, '^ So my 
grandmother is called Miss in this house ! " 

^'1 am very glad to see you," continued 
Madame De Boismorel ; ^^ and who is this fine 
girl ? youi granddaughter, I suppose ? She 
will make a very pretty woman. Come here, 
my dear. Ah ! I see she is a little bashful. 
How old is your granddaughter. Miss Phlip- 
pon ? Her complexion is rather brown, to be 
sure, but her skin is clear, and will grow fairer 
in a few years. She is quite a woman already." 

Thus she rattled on for some time, waiting 
for no answers. At length, turning again to 
Jane, who had hardly ventured to raise her 
eyes from the floor, she said, '^^ What a beauti- 
ful hand you have got. The hand must be a 
lucky one. Did you ever venture in a lottery, 
my dear ? " 

" IS'ever, madam," replied Jane, promptly; 
"I am not fond of gaming." 

'' What an admirable voice ! " exclaimed the 
lady. '' So sweet and yet so full-toned ! But 
how grave she is ! Pray, my dear, are you not 
a little of a devotee ? " 



YOUTH. 35 

*^ I know my duty to God," replied Jane, 
" and I endeavor to fulfil it." 

" That's a good girl," the noble lady rejoined. 
** You wish to take the veil, do you not ? " 

'^ I do not know what may be my destina- 
tion, neither am I at present anxious to con- 
jecture it." 

^' How very sententious ! " Madame De Bois- 
morel replied. " Your granddaughter reads 
a great deal, does she not, Miss Phlippon ? " 

^' Yes, madam, reading is her greatest de- 
light." 

" Aye, aye, " rejoined the lady ; *^^ I see how it 
is. But have a care that she does not turn 
author. That would be a pity indeed." 

During this conversation the cheeks of Jane 
were flushed with wounded pride, and her 
heart throbbed most violently. She felt in- 
dignant and degraded, and was exceedingly 
impatient to escape from the humiliating visit. 
Conscious that she was, in spirit, in no respect 
inferior to the maidens of Greece and Eome 
who had so engrossed -her admiration, she as 
instinctively recoiled from the arrogance of 
the haughty occupant of the parlor as she had 
repelled the affected equality of the servants 
in the hall. 

A short time after this she was taken to pass 
a week at the luxurious abodes of Maria An- 
toinette. Versailles was in itself a city of 



86 MADAME EOLAND. 

palaces and of courtiers, where all that could 
dazzle the eye in regal pomp and princely vo- 
luptuousness was concentered. Most girls of 
her age would have been enchanted and be- 
wildered by this display of royal grandeur. 
Jane was permitted to witness, and partially 
to share, all the pomp of luxuriously-spread 
tables, and presentations, and court balls, and 
illuminations, and the gilded equipages of am- 
bassadors and princes. But this maiden, just 
emerging from the period of childhood and the 
seclusion of the cloister, undazzled by all this 
brilliance, looked sadly on the scene with the 
condemning eye of a philosopher. The servility 
of the courtiers excited her contempt. She 
contrasted the boundless profusion and ex- 
travagance which filled these palaces with the 
absence of comfort in the dwellings of the over- 
taxed poor, and pondered deeply the value of 
that regal despotism, which starved the millions 
to pander to the dissolute indulgence of the 
few. Her personal pride was also severely 
stung by perceiving that her own attractions, 
mental and physical, were entirely overlooked 
by the cr'owds which were bowing before the 
shrines of rank and power. She soon became 
weary of the painful spectacle. Disgusted 
with the frivolity of the living, she sought 
solace for her wounded feelings in companion- 
ship with the illustrious dead. She chose the 



gardens for her resort, and lingering around 
the statues which embellished these scenes of 
almost fairy enchantment, surrendered herself 
to the luxury of those oft-indulged dreams, 
which lured her thoughts away from the 
trivialities around her to heroic character and 
brilliant exploits. 

" How do you enjoy your visit, my daugh- 
ter ? " inquired her mother. 

'' I shall be glad when it is ended," was the 
characteristic reply, " else, in a few more days, 
I shall so detest al'l the persons I see that I 
shall not know what to do with my hatred." 

^' Why, what harm have these persons done 
you, my child ? " 

" They make me feel injustice and look upon 
absurdity," replied this philosopher of thirteen. 

Thus early did she commence her political 
meditations, and here were planted the germs 
of that enthusiasm which subsequently nerved 
her to such exertions for the disenthralment 
of the people, and the establishment of republi- 
can power upon the ruin of the throne of the 
Bourbons. She thought of the ancient repub- 
lics, encircled by a halo of visionary glory, and 
of the heroes and heroines who had been the mar- 
tyrs of liberty ; or to use her own energetic 
language, '^I sighed at the recollection of 
Athens, where I could have enjoyed the fine 
arts without being annoyed at the sight of des- 



38 MADAME ROLAND. 

potism. 1 was out of all patience at being a 
Frenchwoman. Enchanted with the golden 
period of the Grecian republic, I passed over 
the storm»s by which it had been agitated. I 
forgot the exile of Aristides, the death of Soc- 
rates, and the condemnation of Phocion. I 
little thought that Heaven reserved me to be a 
witness of similar errors, to profess the same 
principles, and to participate in the glory of 
the same persecutions." 

Soon after Jane had entered her fourteenth 
year, she left her grandmother's and returned 
to her parental home. Her father, though 
far from opulence, was equally removed from 
poverty, and, without difficulty, provided his 
family with a frugal competence. Jane now 
pursued her studies and her limit-less reading 
with unabated ardor. Her mind, demanding 
reality and truth as basis for thought, in the 
developments of character as revealed in biog- 
r.aphy, in the rise and fall of empires as por- 
trayed in history, in the facts of science, and in 
the principles of mental and physical philoso- 
phy, found its congenial aliment. She accus- 
tomed herself to read with her pen in her 
hand, taking copious abstracts of facts and 
sentiments which particularly interested her. 
Not having a large library of her own, many 
of the books which she read were borrowed, 
and she carefully extracted from them and 



YOUTH. 39 

treasured in her common-place book those 
passages which particularly interested her, 
that she might read them again and again. 
With these abstracts and extracts there were 
freely intermingled her own reflections, and 
thus all that she read was carefully stored up 
in her own mind and became a portion of her 
own intellectual being. 

Jane's mother, conscious of the importance 
to her child of a knowledge of doenestic duties, 
took her to the market to obtain meat and 
vegetables, and occasionally placed upon her 
the responsibility of most of the family pur- 
chases ; and yet the unaffected, queenly dig- 
nity with which the imaginative girl yielded 
herself to these most useful yet prosaic avoca- 
tions was such, that when she entered the 
market, the fruit-women hastened to serve her 
before the other customers. The first comers, 
instead of being offended by this neglect, 
stepped aside, struck by those indescribable 
indications of superiority which ever gave her 
such a resistless influence over other minds. 
It is quite remarkable that Jane, apparently 
never turned with repugnance from these 
humble avocations of domestic life. It speaks 
most highly in behalf of the intelligence and 
sound judgment of her mother, that she was 
enabled thus successfully to allure her daugh- 
ter from her proud imaginings and her realms 



40 MADAME ROLAND. 

of romance to those uiiattractive practical du- 
ties which our daily necessities demand. At 
one hour this ardent and impassioned maiden 
might have been seen in her little chamber ab- 
sorbed in studies of deepest research. The 
highest themes which can elevate or engrqss 
the mind of man claimed her profound and 
delighted reveries. The next hour she might 
be seen in the kitchen, under the guidance of 
her placid and pious mother, receiving from her 
judicious lips lessons upon frugality, and in- 
dustry, and economy. The white apron was 
bound around her waist, and her hands, which, 
but a few moments before, were busy with the 
circles of the celestial globe, were now occu- 
pied in preparing vegetables for dinner. There 
was thus united in the character of Jane the 
appreciation of all that is beautiful, chivalric, 
and sublime in the world of fact and the world 
of imagination, and also domestic skill and 
practical common sense. She was thus pre- 
pared to fascinate by the graces and elegances 
of a refined and polished mind, and to create 
for herself, in the midst of all the vicissitudes 
of life, a region of loveliness in which her spirit 
could ever dwell ; and, at the same time, she 
possessed that sagacity and tact, and those 
habits of usefulness, which prepared her to 
meet calmly all the changes of fortune, and 
over them all to triumph. With that self-ap- 



YOUTH. 41 

preciation, the expression of which, with her, 
was frankness rather than vanity, she subse- 
quently writes, ^* This mixture of serious stud- 
ies, agreeable relaxations, and domestic cares, 
was rendered pleasant by my mother's good 
management, and fitted me for everything. It 
seemed to forebode the vicissitudes of future 
life, and enabled me to bear them. In every 
place I am at home. I can prepare my own 
dinner with as much address as Philopoemen 
cut wood ; but no one seeing me thus engaged 
would think it an office in which I ought to be 
employed. " 

Jane was thus prepared by Providence for 
that career which she rendered so illustrious 
through her talents and her sufferings. At this 
early period there were struggling in her bosom 
those very emotions which soon after agitated 
every mind in France, and which overthrew in 
chaotic ruin both the altar and the throne. 
The dissolute lives of many of the Catholic 
clergy, and their indolence and luxury, began 
to alarm her faith. The unceasing denuncia- 
tions of her father gave additional impulse to 
every such suggestion. She could not but see 
that the pride and power of the state were sus- 
tained by the superstitious terrors wielded by 
the Church. She could not be blind to the 
trickery by which money was wrested from tor- 
tured consciences, and from ignorance, imbecil- 



42 MADAME KOLAND. 

ity, and dotage. She could not but admire her 
mother's placid piety, neither could she conceal 
from herself that her faith was feeling, her prin- 
ciples sentiments. De«eply as her own feelings 
had been impressed in the convent, and much 
as she loved the gentle sisters there, she sought 
in vain for a foundation for the gigantic fabric 
of spiritual dominion towering above her. She 
looked upon the gorgeous pomp of papal wor- 
ship, with its gormandizing pastors and its 
starving flocks, with its pageants to excite the 
sense and to paralyze the mind, with its friars 
and monks loitering in sloth and uselessness, 
and often in the grossest dissipation, and her 
reason gradually began to condemn it as a 
gigantic superstition for the enthralment of 
mankind. Still, the influence of Christian sen- 
timents, like a guardian angel; ever hovered 
around her, and when her bewildered mind was 
groping amid the labyrinths of unbelief, her 
Iteart still clung to all that is pure in Christian 
morals, and to all that is consolatory in the 
hopes of immortality ; and even when be- 
nighted in the most painful atheistic doubts, 
conscience became her deity ; its voice she most 
reverently obeyed. 

She turned from the Church to the state. 
She saw the sons and the daughters of aristo- 
cratic pride, glittering in gilded chariots, and 
surrounded by insolent menials, sweep by her. 



YOUTH. 43 

through the Elysian Fields, while she trod the 
dusty pathway. Her proud spirit revolted, 
more and more, at the apparent injustice. She 
had studied the organization of society. She 
was familiar with the modes of popular op- 
pression. She understood the operation of 
that system of taxes, so ingeniously devised to 
sink the mass of the people in poverty and deg- 
radation, that princes and nobles might revel 
in voluptuous splendor. Indignation nerved 
her spirit as she reflected upon the usurpation 
thus ostentatiously displayed. The seclusion 
in which she lived encouraged deep musings 
upon these vast inequalities of life. Piety had 
not taught her submission. Philosophy had 
not yet taught her the impossibility of adjust- 
ing these allotments of our earthly state, so as 
to distribute the gifts of fortune in accordance 
with merit. Little, however, did the proud 
grandees imagine, as in courtly splendor they 
swept by the plebeian maiden, enveloping her 
in the dust of their chariots, that her voice 
would yet aid to upheave their castles from their 
foundations, and whelm the monarchy and the 
aristocracy of France in one common ruin. 

At this time circumstances brought her in 
contact with several ladies connected with no- 
ble families. The ignorance of these ladies, 
their pride, their arrogance, excited in Jane's 
mind deep contempt. She could not but feel 



44 MADAME EOLAND. 

her own immeasurable superiority over them, 
and yet she perceived with indignation that 
the accident of birth invested them with a 
factitious dignity, which enabled them to look 
down upon her with condescension. A lady of 
noble birth, who had lost fortune and friends 
through the fraud and dissipation of those 
connected with her, came to board for a short 
time in her father's family. This lady was 
forty years of age, insufferably proud of her 
pedigree, and in her manners stiff and repul- 
sive. She was exceedingly illiterate and unin- 
formed, being unable to write a line with cor- 
rectness, and having no knowledge beyond 
ihat which may be picked up in the ball-room 
and the theater. There was nothing in her 
character to win esteem. She was trying, by 
a law-suit, to recover a portion of her lost for- 
tune. Jane wrote petitions for her, and let- 
ters, and sometimes went with her to make 
interest with persons whose influence would be 
important. She perceived that, notwithstand- 
ing her deficiency in every personal quality to 
inspire esteem or love, she was treated, in con- 
sequence of her birth, with the most marked 
deference. Whenever she mentioned the 
names of her high-born ancestry — and those 
names were ever upon her lips — she was lis- 
tened to with the greatest respect. Jane con- 
trasted the receptioa which this illiterate de- 



YOUTH, 



45 



scendant of nobility enjoyed with the reception 
which her grandmother encountered in the 
visit to Madame De Boismorel, and it ap- 
peared to her that the world was exceedingly 
unjust, and that the institutions of society 
were highly absurd. Thus was her mind train- 





111 infill 1 1 1 11 Ir 1 Jiil li Ir'Siii nlll 


ill 


■ 








in 


1 






1 


^^^W?^B| liiK^B^sii 





Salon of an Aristocrat, 
ing for activity in the arena of revolution. 
She was pondering deeply all the abuses of 
society. She had become enamored of the 
republican liberty of antiquity. She was 
ready to embrace with enthusiasm any hopes 
of change. All the games and amusements of 
girlhood appeared to her frivolous, as, day 
after day, her whole mental powers were en- 
grossed by these profound contemplations, and 
by aspirations for the elevation of herself and 
of mankind. 



4— Roland 




11 FJ 



CHAPTER m. 



MAIDEKHOOD. 

A SOUL SO active so imaginative, and so full 
of feeling as that of Jane, could not long 
slumber unconscious of the emotion of love. 
In the unaffected and touching narrative which 
she gives of her own character, in the Journal 
which she subsequently wrote in the gloom of 
a prison, she alludes to the first rising of that 
mysterious passion in her bosom. With that 
frankness which ever marked her character, 
she describes the strange fluttering of her heart, 
the embarrassment, the attraction, and the in- 
stinctive diffidence she experienced when in the 
presence of a young man who had, all uncon- 
sciously, interested her affections. It seems 
that there was a youthful painter named Tabo- 
ral, of pale, and pensive, and intellectual coun- 
tenance — an artist with soul-inspired enthu- 
siasm beaming from his eye — who occasionally 
called upon her father. Jane had just been 
reading the Heloise of Eousseau, that gushing 
fountain of sentimentality. Her young heart 
took fire. His features mingled insensibly in 

her dreamings and her visions, and dwelt, a wel- 

46 



MAIDENHOOD. 47 

come guest, in her castles in the air. The dif- 
fident young man, with all the sensitiveness of 
genius, could not speak to the daughter, of 
whose accomplishments the father was so justly 
proud, without blushing like a girl. When 
Jane heard him in the shop, she always con- 
trived to make some errand to go in*. There 
was a pencil or something else to be sought for. 
But the moment she was in the presence of 
Taboral, instinctive embarrassment drove her 
away, and she retired more rapidly than she en- 
tered, and with a palpitating heart ran to hide 
herself in her little chamber. 

This emotion, however, was fleeting and 
transient, and soon forgotten. Indeed, highly 
imaginative as was Jane, her imagination was 
vigorous and intellectual, and her tastes led her 
far a'way from those enervating love-dreams, in 
which a weaker m.ind would have indulged. A 
young lady so fascinating in mind and person 
could not but attract much attention. Many 
suitors began to appear, one after another, but 
she manifested no interest in any of them. The 
customs of society in France were such at that 
time, that it was difficult for any one who 
sought the hand of Jane to obtain an introduc- 
tion to her. Consequently, the expedient was 
usually adopted of writing first to her parents. 
These letters were always immediately shown 
to Jane. She judged of the character of the 



48 MADAME ROLAND. 

writer by the character of the epistles. Her 
father, knowing her intellectual superiority, 
looked to her as his secretary to reply to all 
these letters. She consequently wrote the an- 
swers, which her father carefully copied, and 
sent in his own name. She was often amused 
with the gravity with which she, as the father 
of herself, with parental prudence discussed her 
own interests. In subsequent years she wrote 
to kings and to cabinets in the name of her hus- 
band ; and the sentiments which flowed from 
her pen, adopted by the ministry of France as 
their own, guided the councils of nations. 

Her father, regarding commerce as the source 
of wealth, and wealth as the source of power 
and dignity, was very anxious that his daughter 
should accept some of the lucrative offers she 
was receiving from young men of the family 
acquaintance who were engaged in trade. But 
Jane had no such thought. Her proud spirit 
revolted from such a connection. From her 
sublimated position among the ancient heroes, 
and her ambitious aspirings to dwelt in the loft- 
iest regions of intellect, she could not think of 
allying her soul with those whose energies were 
expended in buying and selling ; and she de- 
clared that she would have no husband but one 
with whom she could cherish congenial sym- 
pathies. 

At one time a rich meat merchant of the 




Madame Roland, face j>. 48 



Maximilien Marie Isidore Robespierre. {See p. 96.) 



MAIDENHOOD. 49 

neighborhood solicited her hand. Her father, 
allured by his wealth, was very anxious that 
his (laughter should accept the offer. In reply 
to his urgency Jane firmly replied. 

" I can not, dear father, descend from my no- 
ble imaginings. What I want in a husband is 
a soul, not a fortune. I will die single rather 
than prostitute my own mind in a union with; 
a being with whom I have no sympathies.- 
Brought up from my infancy in connection with 
the great men of all ages — familiar with lofty 
ideas and illustrious examples — have I lived 
with Plato, with all the philosophers, all the 
poets, all the politicians of antiquity, merely to 
unite myself with a shop-keeper, who will nei- 
ther appreciate nor feel anything as I do ? 
Why have you suffered me, father, to contract 
these intellectual habits and tastes, if you wish 
me to form such an alliance ?/ I know not 
whom I may marry ; but it must be one who 
can share my thoughts and sympathize with my 
pursuits." / 

'^ But, my daughter, there are many men of 
business who have extensive information and 
polished manners." 

" That may be," Jane answered, ''but they 
do not possess the kind of information, and the 
character of mind, and the intellectual tastes 
which I wish any one who is my husband to 
possess." 



60 MADAME ROLAND. 

*' Do you not suppose/' rejoined her father, 

" that Mr. and his wife are happy ? 

He has just retired from business with an 
ample fortune. They have a beautiful house, 
and receive the best of company." 

" I am no judge," was the reply, '^ of other 
people's happiness. But my own heart is not 
fixed on riches. I conceive that the strictest 
union of affection is requisite to conjugal 
felicity. I cannot connect myself with any 
man whose tastes and sympathies are not in 
accordance with my own. My husband must 
be my superior. Since both nature and the 
laws give him the preeminence, I should be 
ashamed if he did not really deserve it." 

'^I suppose, then, you want a counselor for 
your husband. But ladies are seldom happy 
with these learned gentlemen. They have a 
great deal of pride, and very little money." 

'* Father," Jane earnestly replied, "I care 
not about the profession. I wish only to marry 
a man whom I can love." 

" But you persist in thinking such a man 
will never be found in trade. You will find it, 
liowever, a very pleasant thing to sit at ease in 
your own parlor while your husband is accum- 
ulating a fortune. Now there is Madame 
Dargens : she understands diamonds as well as 
her husband. She can make good bargains in 
his absence, and could carry on all his business 



MAIDENHOOD. 51 

perfectly w*ll if she were left a widow. You 
are intelligent. You perfectly understand that 
branch of business since you studied the treat- 
ise on precious stones. You might do what- 
ever you please. You would have led a very 
happy life if you could but have fancied De- 
lorme, Dabrieul, or — '' 

" Father," earnestly exclaimed Jane, ** I 
have discovered that the only way to make a 
fortune in trade is by selling dear that which 
has been bought cheap ; by overcharging the 
customer, and beating down the poor workman. 
I could never descend to such practises ; nor 
could I respect a man who made them his oc- 
cupation from morning till night." 

*' Do you then suppose that there are no 
honest tradesmen ? " 

** I presume that there are," was the reply ; 
'* but the number is not large ; and among 
them I am not likely to find a husband who 
will sympathize with me." 

" And what will you do if you do not find 
the idol of your imagination ? " 

"I will live single." 

'^ Perhaps you will not find that as pleasant 
as you imagine. You may think that there is 
time enough yet. But weariness will come at 
last. The crowd of lovers will soon pass away, 
and you know the fable." 

*^ Well, then, by meriting happiness, 1 will 



62 MADAME ROLAND. 

take revenge upon the injustice which would 
deprive me of it." 

" Oh ! now you are in the clouds again, my / 
child. It is very pleasant to soar to such a j 
height, but it is not easy to keep the elevation.'' / 

The judicious mother of Jane, anxious to 
see her daughter settled in life, endeavored to 
form a match for her with a young physician. 
Much maneuvering was necessary to bring 
about the desired result. The young practi- 
tioner was nothing loth to lend his aid. The 
pecuniary arrangements were all made, and 
the bargain completed, before Jane knew any- 
thing of the matter. The mother and 
daughter went out one morning to make a call 
upon a friend, at whose house the prospective 
husband of Jane, by previous appointment, 
was accidentally to be. It was a curious inter- 
view. The friends so overacted their part, 
that Jane, immediately saw through the plot. 
Her mother was pensive and anxious. Her 
friends were voluble, and prodigal of sly in- 
timations. The young gentleman was very 
lavish of his powers of pleasing, loaded Jane 
with flippant compliments, devoured confec- 
tionery with high relish, and chattered most 
flippantly in the most approved style of fashion- 
able inanition. The high-spirited girl had no 
idea of being thus disposed of in the matri- 
monial bazaar. The profession of the doctor 



MAIDENHOOD. 6S 

was pleasing to her, as it promised an enlight- 
ened mind, and she was willing to consent to 
make his acquaintance. Her mother urged 
her to decide at once. 

''What, mother ! " she exclaimed, '' would 
you have me take one for my husband upon 
the strength of a single interview ? " 

" It is not exactly so/' she replied. '' This 
young gentleman's intimacy with our friends 
enables us to judge of his conduct and way of 
life. We know his disposition. These are the 
main points. You have attained the proper 
age to be settled in the world. You have 
refused many offers from tradesmen, and it is 
from that class alone that you are likely to re- 
ceive addresses. You seem fully resolved 
never to marry a man in business. You may 
never have another such offer. The present 
match is very eligible in every external point 
of view. Beware how you reject it too light- 

ly." 

Jane, thus urged, consented to see the young 
physician at her father's house, that she might 
become acquainted with him. She, however, 
determined that no earthly power should in- 
duce her to marry him, unless she found in 
him a congenial spirit. Fortunately, she was 
saved all further trouble in the matter by a 
dispute which arose between her lover and her 
father respecting the pecuniary arrangements. 



54 MadAmE iiOLAiTt). 

and which broke oS all further connection be- 
tween the parties. 

Her mother's health now began rapidly to 
decline. A stroke of palsy deprived her of her 
accustomed elasticity of spirits, and secluding 
herself from society, she became silent and 
sad. In view of approaching death, she often 
lamented that she could not see her daughter 
well married before she left the world. An 
offer which Jane received from a very honest, 
industrious, and thrifty jeweler, aroused anew 
a mother's maternal solicitude. 

" Why," she exclaimed, with melancholy 
earnestness, '^ will you reject this young man ? 
He has an amiable disposition, and high repu- 
tation for integrity and sobriety. He is al- 
ready in easy circumstances, and is in a fair 
way of soon acquiring a brilliant fortune. He 
knows that you have a superior mind. He 
professes great esteem for you, and will be 
proud of following your advice. You might 
lead him in any way you like." 

" But, my d'ear mother, I do not want a 
husband who is to be led. He would be too 
cumbersome a child for me to take care of." 

" Do you know that you are a very whimsical 
girl, my child ? And how do you think you 
would like a husband who was your master and 
tyrant ? " 

*' I certainly," Jane replied, ^'should not 



MAIDENHOOD. 55 

like a man who assumed airs of authority, for 
that would only provoke me to resist. But I 
am sure that I could never love a husband 
whom it was necessary for me to govern. I 
should be ashamed of my own power." 

" I understand you, Jane. You would like 
to have a man think himself the master, while 
he obeyed you in every particular." 

*' No, mother, it is not that either. I hate 
servitude ; but empire would only embarrass 
me. I wish to gain the affections of a man 
who would make his happiness consist in con- 
tributing to mine, as his good sense and regard 
for me should dictate." 

" But, my daughter, there would be hardly 
such a thing in the world as a happy couple, if 
happiness could not exist without that perfect 
congeniality of taste and opinions which you 
imagine to be so necessary." 

** I do not know, mother, of a single, person 
whose happiness I envy." 

**Very well, but among those matches 
which you do not envy, there may be some far 
preferable to remaining always single. I may 
be called out of the world sooner than you 
imagine. Your father is still young. I can- 
not tell you all the disagreeable things my 
fondness for you makes me fear. I should be 
indeed happy, could I see you united to some 
worthy man before I die." 



56 MADAME KOLAND. 

This was the first time that the idea of her 
mother's death ever seriously entered the mind 
of Jane. With an eager gaze, she fixed her 
eye upon her pale and wasted cheek and her 
emaciate frame, and the dreadful truth, with 
the suddenness of a revelation, burst upon her. 
Her whole frame shook with emotion, and she 
burst into a flood of tears. Her mother, much 
moved, tried to console her. 

" Do not be alarmed, my dear child," said 
she, tenderly. *^I am not dangerously ill. 
But in forming our plans, we should take into 
consideration all chances. A worthy man 
offers you his hand. You have now attained 
your twentieth year. You cannot expect as 
many suitors as you have had for the last five 
years. I may be suddenly taken from you. 
Do not, then, reject a husband who, it is true, 
has not all the refinement you could desire, 
but who will love you, and with whom you can 
be happy." 

'^ Yes, my dear mother," exclaimed Jane, 
with a deep and impassioned sigh, '*as happy 
as you have been. 

The expression escaped her in the excite- 
ment of the moment. Never before had she 
ventured in the remotest way to allude to the 
total want of congeniality which she could not 
but perceive existed between her father and 
her mother. Indeed her mother's character 



MAIDENHOOD. 57 

for patience and placid submission was so re- 
markable, that Jane did not know how deeply 
she had suffered, nor what a life of martyrdom 
she was leading. The effect of Jane's unpre- 
meditated remark opened her eyes to the sad 
reality. Her mother was greatly disconcerted. 
Her cheek changed color. Her lip trembled. 
She made no reply. She never again opened 
her lips upon the subject of the marriage of 
her child. 

The father of Jane, with no religious belief 
to control his passions or guide his conduct, 
was gradually falling into those habits of dis- 
sipation to which he was peculiarly exposed by 
the character of the times. He neglected his 
business. He formed disreputable acquaint- 
ances. He became irritable and domineer- 
ing over his wife, and was often absent from 
home, with convivial clubs, until a late hour of 
the night. Neither mother nor daughter ever 
uttered one word to each other in reference to 
the failings of the husband and father. Jane, 
however, had so powerful an influence over him, 
that she often, by her persuasive skill, averted 
the storm which was about to descend upon 
her meek and unresisting parent. 

The poor mother, in silence and sorrow, was 
sinking to the tomb far more rapidly than Jane 
imagined. One summer's day, the father, 
mother, and daughter took a short excursion 



68 MADAME BOLAND. 

into the country. The day was warm and 
beautiful. In a little boat they glided over the 
pleasant waters of the Seine, feasting their 
eyes with the beauties of nature and art which 
fringed the shores. The pale cheek of the 
dying wife became flushed with animation as 
she once again breathed the invigorating air 
of the country, and the daughter beguiled her 
fears with the delusive hope that it was the 
flush of returning health. When they reached 
their home, Madame Phlippon, fatigued with 
the excursion, retired to her chamber for rest. 
Jane, accompanied by her maid, went to the 
convent to call upon her old friends the nuns. 
She made a very short call. 

"Why are you in such haste ?" inquired 
Sister Agatha. 

** I am anxious to return to my mother." 
** But you told me that she was better." 
'^ She is much better than usual. But I have 
a strange feeling of solicitude about her. I 
shall not feel easy until I see her again." 

She hurried home and was met at the door by 
a little girl, who informed her that her mother 
was very dangerously ill. She flew to the 
room, and found her almost lifeless. Another 
stroke of paralysis had done its work, and she 
was dying. She raised her languid eyes to her 
child, but her palsied tongue could speak no 
word of tenderness. One arm only obeyed the 



MAIDENHOOD. 59 

impulse of her will. She raised it, and affec- 
tionately patted the cheek of her beloved 
daughter, and wiped the tears which were 
flowing down her cheeks. The priest came to 
administer the last consolations of religion. 
Jane, with her eyes riveted upon her dying 
parent, endeavored to hold the light. Over- 
powered with anguish, the light suddenly 
dropped from her hand, and she fell senseless 
upon the floor. AYhen she recovered from this 
swoon her mother was dead. 

Jane was entirely overwhelmed with uncon- 
trollable and delirious sorrow. For many days 
it was apprehended that her own life would 
fc*lLa sacrifice to the blow which her affections 
had received. Instead of being a support to 
the family in this hour of trial, she added to 
the burden and the care. The Abb6 Legrand, 
who stood by her bedside as her whole frame 
was shaken by convulsions, very sensibly re- 
marked, ** It is a good thing to possess sensi- 
bility. It is very unfortunate to have so 
much of it." Gradually Jane regained com- 
posure, but life, to her, was darkened. She 
now began to realize all those evils which her 
fond mother had apprehended. Speaking of 
her departed parent, she says, ^' The world 
never contained a better or a more amiable 
woman. There was nothing brilliant in her 
character, but she possessed every quality to 

5- Roland 



60 MADAME ROLAND. 

endear her to all by whom she was known. 
Naturally endowed with the sweetest disposi- 
tion, virtue seemed never to cost her any 
effort. Her pure and tranquil spirit pursued 
its even course like the docile stream that 
bathes with equal gentleness, the foot of the 
rock which holds it captive, and the valley 
which it at once enriches and adorns. With 
her death was concluded the tranquillity of my 
youth, which till then was passed in the enjoy- 
ment of blissful affections and beloved occupa- 
tions." 

Jane soon found her parental home, indeed, 
a melancholy abode. She was truly alone in 
the world. Her father now began to advance 
with more rapid footsteps in the career of 
dissipation. A victim to that infidelity which 
presents no obstacle to crime, he yielded him- 
self a willing captive to the dominion of 
passion, and disorder reigned through the 
desolated household. Jane had the morti- 
fication of seeing a woman received into 
the family to take her mother's place, in a 
union unsanctified by the laws of God. A 
deep melancholy settled down upon the mind 
of the wounded girl, and she felt that she was 
desolate and an alien in her own home. She 
shut herself up in her chamber with her 
thoughts and her books. All the chords of her 
sensitive nature now vibrated only responsive 



MAIDENHOOD. 61 

to those melanclioly tones which are the dirges 
of the broken, heart. As there never was 
genius untinged by melancholy, so may it be 
doubted whether there ever was greatness of 
character which had not been nurtured in the 
school of great affliction. Her hsart now 
began to feel irrepressible longings for the 
sympathy of some congenial friend, upon 
whose supporting bosom she could lean her 
aching head. In lonely musings she solaced 
herself, and nurtured her own thoughts by 
writing. Her pen became her friend, and the 
resource of every weary hour. She freely gave 
utterance in her diary to all her feelings and 
all her emotions. Her manuscripts of ab- 
stracts, and extracts, and original thoughts, 
became quite voluminous. In this way she 
v/as daily cultivating that power of expression 
and that force of eloquence which so often, in 
subsequent life, astonished and charmed her 
friends. 

In every development of character in her 
most eventful future career, one can distinctly 
trace the influence of these vicissitudes of early 
life, and of these impressions thus powerfully 
stamped upon her nature. Philosophy, ro- 
mance, and religious sentiment, an impassioned 
mind and a glowing heart, admiration of 
heroism, and emulation of martyrdom in 
some noble cause; all conspired to give her 



6iJ MADAME ROLAND. 

sovereignty over the affections of others, and 
to enable her to sway human wills almost at 
pleasure. 

M. Boismorel, husband of the aristocratic 
lady to whom Jane once paid so disagreeable a 
visit, called one day at the shop of M. Phlip- 
pon, and the proud father could not refrain 
from showing him some of the writings of Jane. 
The nobleman had sense enough to be very 
much pleased with the talent which they dis- 
played, and wrote her a very flattering letter, 
offering her the free use of his very valuable 
library, and urging her to devote her life to lit- 
erary pursuits, and. at once to commence au- 
thorship„ Jane was highly gratified by this 
commendation, and most eagerly availed her- 
self of his most valuable offer. In reply to his 
suggestion respecting authorship, she inclosed 
the following lines : 

*' Aux homnies ouvrant la carriers 
Des grands et des nobles talents, 
lis n'ont mis aucune barriere 
A leurs plus sublimes elans. 

" De mon sexe foible et sensible, 

lis ne veulent que des vertus ; 
Nous pouvons imiter Titus, 
Mais dans un sentier moins penible. 

" Joussiez du bien d'etre admis 
A toutes ces sortes de gloire 
Pour nous le temple de memoire 
Est dans le coeurs de nos amis." 



MAIDENHOOD. 68 

These lines have been thus vigorously trans- 
lated in the interesting sketch given by Mrs. 
Child of Madame Eoland : 

'* To man's aspiring sex 'tis given 
To climb the highest hill of fame ; 
To tread the shortest road to heaven, 
And gain by death a deathless name. 

** Of well-fought fields and trophies won 
The memory lives while ages pass ; 
Graven on everlasting stone, 
Or written on retentive brass. 

" But to poor feeble womankind 
The meed of glory is denied ; 
Within a narrow sphere confined, 
The lowly virtues are their pride. 

-* Yet not deciduous is their fame, 
Ending where frail existence ends ; 
A sacred temple holds their name — 
The heart of their surviving friends." 

A friendly correspondence ensued between 
Jane and M. De Boismorel, which continued 
through his life. He was a very worthy and 
intelligent man, and became so much interested 
in his young friend, that he wished to connect 
her in marriage with his son. This young 
man was indolent and irresolute in character, 
and his father thought that he would be great- 
ly benefited by a wife of decision and judg- 
ment. Jane, however, was no more disposed 
to fall in love with rank than with wealth, and 
took no fancy whatever to the characterless 



64 MADAME ROLAND. 

young nobleman. The judicious father saw 
that it would be utterly unavailing to urge the 
suit, and the matter was dropped. 

Through the friendship of M. De Boismorel, 
she was often introduced to the great world of 
lords and ladies. Even his formal and haughty 
wife became much interested in the fascinating 
young lady, and her brilliant talents and ac- 
complishments secured her invitations to many 
social interviews to which she would not have 
been entitled by her birth. This slight ac- 
quaintance with the nobility of France did not, 
however, elevate them in her esteem. She 
found the conversation of the old marquises 
and antiquated dowagers who frequented the 
saloon of Madame De Boismorel more insipid 
and illiterate than that of the tradespeople who 
visited her father's shop, and upon whom these 
nobles looked down with such contempt. Jane 
was also disgusted with the many indications 
she saw, not only of indolence and voluptuous- 
ness, but of dissipation and utter want of prin- 
ciple. Her good sense enabled her to move 
among these people as a studious observer of 
this aspect of human nature, neither adopting 
their costume nor imitating their manners. 
She was very unostentatious and simple in her 
style of dress, and never, in the slightest de- 
gree, affected the mannerism of mindless and 
heartless fashion. 




Madame Roland, J"-' " 

George Jacques Danton. {Seep. 120.) 



MAIDENHOOD. 65 

Madame De Boismorel, at one time eulogiz- 
ing her taste in these respects, remarked, 

*^ You do not love feathers, do you. Miss 
Phlippon ? How very different you are from 
the giddy-headed girls around us ! " 

'' I never wear feathers," Jane replied, 
" because I do not think that they would cor- 
respond with the condition in life of an artist's 
daughter who is going about on foot." 

"But, were you in a different situation in 
life, would you then wear feathers ? " 

"I do not know what I should do in that 
case. I attach very slight importance to such 
trifles. I merely consider what is suitable for 
myself, and should be very sorry to judge of 
others by the superficial information afforded 
by their dress." 

M. Phlippon now began to advance more rap- 
idly in the career of dissipation. Jane did 
everything in her power to lure him to love 
his home. All her efforts were entirely un- 
availing. Night after night he was absent un- 
til the Fatest hours at convivial clubs and card- 
parties. He formed acquaintance with those 
with whom Jane could not only have no con- 
geniality of taste, but who must have excited 
in her emotions of the deepest repugnance. 
These companions were often at his house; 
and the comfortable property which M. Phlip- 
pon possessed, under this course of dissipation 



66 MADAME ROLAND. 

was fast melting away. Jane's situation was 
now painful in the extreme. Her mother, who 
had been the guardian angel of her life, was 
sleeping in the grave. Her father was advanc- 
ing with the most rapid strides in the road to 
r^uin. Jane was in danger of soon being left 
an orphan and utterly penniless. Her father 
was daily becoming more neglectful and un- 
kind to his daughter, as he became more dis- 
satisfied with himself and with the world. 
Under these circumstances, Jane, by the ad- 
vice of friends, had resort to a legal process, 
by which there was secured to her, from the 
wreck of her mother's fortune, an annual in- 
come of about one hundred dollars. 

In these gloomy hours which clouded the 
morning of life's tempestuous day, Jane found 
an unfailing resource and solace in her love 
of literature. With pen in hand, extracting 
beautiful passages and expanding suggested 
thoughts, she forgot her griefs and beguiled 
many hours, which would otherwise have 
been burdened' with intolerable wretchedness. 
Maria Antoinette, wo-worn and weary, in 
tones of despair uttered the exclamation, 
** Oh ! what a resource, amid the casualties of 
life, must there be in a highly-cultivated 
mind." The plebeian maiden could utter the 
same exclamation in accents of joyfulness. 




CHAPTER IV. 

MAKEIAQE. 

Whek Jane was in the convent, she became 
acquainted with a young lady from Amiens, 
Sophia Cannet. They formed for each other 
a strong attachment, and commenced a cor- 
respondence which continued for many years. 
There was a gentleman in Amiens by the name 
of Eoland de la Platiere, born of an opulent 
family, and holding the quite important office 
of inspector of manufactures. His time was 
mainly occupied in traveling and study. 
Being deeply interested in all subjects relating 
to political economy, he had devoted much at- 
tention to that noble science, and had written 
several treatises upon commerce, mechanics, 
and agriculture, which had given him, in the 
literary and scientific world, no little celebrity. 
He frequently visited the father of Sophia. 
She often spoke to him of her friend Jane, 
showed him her portrait, and read to him ex- 
.tracts from her glowing letters. The calm 
philosopher became very much interested in 

the enthusiastic maiden, and entreated Sophia 

67 



68 MADAMS llbLAim. 

to give him a letter of introduction to her, 
upon one of his annual visits to Paris. Sophia 
had also often written to Jane of her father's 
friend, whom she regarded with so much rev- 
erence. 

One day Jane was sitting alone in her deso- 
late home, absorbed in pensive musings, when 
M. Eoland entered, bearing a letter of intro- 
duction to her from Sophia. " You will re- 
ceive this letter," her friend wrote, "by the 
hand of the philosopher of whom I have so 
often written to you. M. Eoland is an en- 
lightened man, of antique manners, without 
reproach, except for his passion for the an- 
cients, his contempt for the moderns, and his 
too high estimation of his own virtue." 

The gentleman thus introduced to- her- was 
about forty years old. He was tall, slender, 
and well formed, with a little stoop in his gait, 
and manifested in his manners that self-pos- 
session which is the result of conscious worth 
and intellectual power, while, at the same time, 
he exhibited that slight and not displeasing 
awkwardness which one unavoidably acquires 
in hours devoted to silence and study. Still, 
Madame Eoland says, in her description of his 
person, that he was courteous and winning ; 
and though his manners did not possess all the 
easy elegance of the man of fashion, they 
united the politeness of the well-bred man 



MARRIAGE. 69 

with the unostentatious gravity of the philoso- 
pher. He was thin, with a complexion much 
tanned. His broad and intellectual brow, cov- 
ered with but few hairs, added to the im- 
posing attractiveness of his features. While 
listening, his countenance had an expression 
of deep thoughtf ulness, and almost of sadness ; 
but when excited in speaking, a smile of great 
cheerfulness spread over his animated features. 
His voice was rich and sonorous ; his mode of 
speech brief and sententious ; his conversation 
full of information, and rich in suggestive 
thought. 

Jane, the enthusiastic, romantic Jane, saw 
in the serene philosopher one of the sages of 
antiquity, and almost literally bowed and wor- 
shiped. All the sentiments of M. Eoland 
were in accordance with the most cherished 
emotions which glowed in her own mind. She 
found what she had ever been seeking, but had 
never found before, a truly sympathetic soul. 
She thought not of love. She looked up to 
M. Eoland as to a superior being — to an ora- 
cle, by whose decisions she could judge 
whether her own opinions were right or wrong. 
It is true that M. Eoland, cool and unimpas- 
sioned in all his mental operations, never en- 
tered those airy realms of beauty and those 
visionary regions of romance where Jane loved, 
at times, to revel. And perhaps Jane vener- 



70 MADAME ROLAND. 

ated him still more for his more stern and 
unimaginative philosophy. But his medita- 
tive wisdom, his abstraction from the frivolous 
pursuits of life, his high ambition, his elevated 
pleasures, his consciousness of superiority over 
the mass of his fellow-men, and his sleepless 
desire to be a benefactor of humanity, were all 
traits of character which resistlessly attracted 
the admiration of Jane. She adored him as a 
disciple adores his master. She listened 
eagerly to all his words, and loved communion 
with his thoughts. M. Eoland was by no 
means insensible to this homage, and though 
he looked upon her with none of the emotions 
of a lover, he was charmed with her society 
because she was so delighted with his own con- 
versation. By the faculty of attentively listen- 
ing to what others had to say, Madame Eoland 
affirms that she made more friends than by 
any remarks she ever made of her own. The 
two minds, not heartSy were at once united ; 
but this platonic union soon led to one more 
tender. 

M. Eoland had recently been traveling in 
Germany, and had written a copious journal 
of his tour. As he was about to depart from 
Paris for Italy, he left this journal, with other 
manuscripts, in the hands of Jane. " These 
manuscripts," she writes, ''made me better 
acquainted with him, during the eighteen 



MARRIAGE. 71 

months he passed in Italy, than frequent visits 
could have done. They consisted of travels, 
reflections, plans of literary works, and personal 
anecdotes. A strong mind, strict principles, 
and personal taste, were evident in every 
page.'' He also introduced Jane to his 
brother, a Benedictine monk. During the 
eighteen months of his absence from Paris, he 
was traveling in Italy, Switzerland, Sicily, 
and Malta, and writing notes upon those 
countries, which he afterward published. 
These notes he committed to his brother the 
monk, and he transmitted them to Jane. She 
read them with intense interest. At length 
he returned again to Paris, and their acquaint- 
ance was renewed. M. Eoland submitted to 
her his literary projects, and was much grati- 
fied in finding that she approved of all that 
he did and all that he contemplated. She 
found in him an invaluable friend. His grav- 
ity, his intellectual life, his almost stoical phi- 
losophy, impressed her imagination and cap- 
tivated her understanding. Two or three 
years passed away ere either of them seemed 
to have thought of the other in the light of 
a lover. She regarded him as a guide and 
friend. There was no ardor of youthful love 
warming her heart. There were no impas- 
sioned affections glowing in her bosom and 
impelling her to his side. Intellectual enthu- 



72 MADAME EOLAND. 

siasm alone animated her in welcoming an in^ 
tellectual union with a noble mind. M. Eo- 
land, on the other hand, looked with placid 
and paternal admiration upon the brilliant 
girl. He was captivated by her genius and 
the charms of her conversation, and, above all, 
by her profound admiration of himself. They 
were mutually happy in each other's society, 
and were glad to meet and loth to part. They 
conversed upon literary projects, upon politi- 
cal reforms, upon speculations in philosophy 
and science. M. Roland was naturally self- 
confident, opinionated, and domineering. 
Jane regarded him with so much reverence 
that she received his opinions for law. Thus 
he was flattered and she was happy. 

M. Roland returned to his official post at 
Amiens, and engaged in preparing his work on 
Italy for the press. They carried on a volumi- 
nous and regular correspondence. He for- 
warded to her, in manuscript, all the sheets of 
his proposed publication, and she returned them 
with the accompanying thoughts which their 
perusal elicited. Now and then an expression 
of decorous endearment would escape from each 
pen in the midst of philosophic discussions and 
political speculations. It was several years 
after their acquaintance commenced before M. 
Roland made an avowal of his attachment. 
Jane knew very well the pride of the Roland 



MAKRIAGE. 73 

family, and that her worldly circumstances 
were such that, in their estimation, the connec- 
tion would not seem an advantageous one. She 
also was too proud to enter into a family who 
might feel dishonored hy the alliance. She 
therefore frankly told him that she felt much 
honored hy his addresses, and that she esteemed 
him more highly than any other man she 
had ever met. She assured him that she should 
be most happy to make him a full return for 
his affection, but that her father was a ruined 
man, and that, by his increasing debts and his 
errors of character, still deeper disgrace might 
be entailed upon all connected with him ; and 
she therefore could not think of allowing M. 
Roland to make his generosity to her a source 
of future mortification to himself. 

This was not the spirit most likely to repel 
the philosophic lover. The more she manifest- 
ed this elevation of soul, in which Jane was 
perfectly sincere, the more earnestly did M. 
Roland persist in his plea. At last Jane, influ- 
enced by his entreaties, consented that he 
should make proposals to her father. He wrote 
to M. Phlippon. In reply, he received an in- 
sulting letter, containing a blunt refusal. M. 
Phlippon declared that he had no idea of hav- 
ing for a son-in-law a man of such rigid princi- 
ples, who would ever be reproaching him for 
all his little errors. He also told his daughter 

6— Roland 



74 MADAME KOLAND. 

that she would find in a man of such austere 
yirtue, not a companion and an equal, but a 
censor and a tyrant. Jane laid this refusal of 
her father deeply to heart, and, resolving that 
if she could not marry the man of her choice, 
she would marry no one else, she wrote to M. 
Roland, requesting him to abandon his design, 
and not to expose himself to any further 
affronts. She then requested permission of her 
father to retire to a convent. 

Her reception at the convent, where she was 
already held in such high esteem, was cordial in 
the extreme. The scanty income she had saved 
from her mother's property rendered it neces- 
sary for her to live with the utmost frugality. 
She determined to regulate her expenses in 
accordance with this small sum. Potatoes, 
rice, and beans, with a little salt, and occasion- 
ally the luxury of a little butter, were her only 
food. She allowed herself to leave the convent 
but twice a week : once, to call, for an hour 
upon a relative, and once to visit her father, and 
look over his linen. She had a little room un- 
der the roof, in the attic, where the pattering 
of the rain upon the tiles soothed to pensive 
thought, and lulled her to sleep by night. She 
carefully secluded herself from association with 
the other inmates of the convent, receiving only 
a visit of an hour each evening from the much 
loyed Sister Agatha, Her time she devoted, 



with unremitting diligence, to those literary 
avocations in which she found so much delight. 
The quiet and seclusion of this life had many 
charms for Jane. Indeed, a person with such 
resources for enjoyment within herself could 
never be very weary. The votaries of fashion 
and gaiety are they to whom existence grows 
languid and life a burden. Several months thus 
glided away in tranquillity. She occasionally 
walked in the gardeji, at hours when no one 
else was there. The spirit of resignation, 
which she had so long cultivated ; the peaceful 
conscience she enjoyed, in view of duty per- 
formed ; the elevation of spirit, which enabled 
her to rise superior to misfortune ; the method- 
ical arrangement of time, which assigned to 
each hour its appropriate duty ; the habit of 
close application, which riveted her attention 
to her studies ; the highly-cultivated taste and 
buoyantly-winged imagination, which opened 
before her all the fairy realms of fancy, were 
treasures which gilded her cell and enriched 
her heart. She passed, it is true, some melan- 
choly hours ; but even that melancholy had its 
charms, and was more rich in enjoyment than 
the most mirthful moments through which the 
unreflecting flutter. M. Eoland continued a 
very constant and kind correspondence with 
Jane, but she was not a little wounded by the 
philosophic resignation with which he submit- 



76 mabamj: eolakb. 

ted to her father's stern refusal. In the course 
of five or six months he again visited Paris, and 
called at the convent to see Jane. He saw her 
pale and pensive face behind a grating, and the 
sight of one who had suffered so much from 
her faithful love for him, and the sound of her 
voice, which ever possessed a peculiar charm, 
revived in his mind those Impressions which 
had been somewhat fading away. He again 
renewed his offer, and entreated her to allow 
the marriage ceremony at once to be performed 
by his brother the prior. Jane was in much 
perplexity. She did not feel that her father 
was in a situation longer to control her, and she 
was a little mortified by the want of ardor which 
her philosophical lover had displayed. The 
illusion of romantic love was entirely dispelled 
from her mind, and, at the same time, she felt 
flattered by his perseverance, by the evidence 
that his most mature judgment approved of his 
choice, and by his readiness to encounter all the 
uinpleasant circumstances in which he might be 
involved by his alliance with her. Jane, with- 
out much delay, yielded to his appeals. They 
were married in the winter of 1780. Jane was 
then twenty-five years of age. Her husband 
was twenty years her senior. 

The first year of their marriage life they 
passed in Paris. It was to Madame Eoland a 
year of great enjoyment. Her husband was 



MAERIAGE. 77 

publishing a work upon the arts, and she, with 
all the energy of her enthusiastic mind, entered 
into all his literary enterprises. With great care 
and accuracy, she prepared his manuscripts for 
the press, and corrected the proofs. She lived 
in the study with him, became the companion of 
all his thoughts, and his assistant in all his 
labors. The only recreations in which she in- 
dulged, during the winter, were to attend a 
course of lectures upon natural history and 
botany. M. Roland had hired ready-furnished 
lodgings. She, well instructed by her mother 
in domestic duties, observing that all kinds of 
cooking did not agree with him, took pleasure 
in preparing his food with her own hands. Her 
husband engrossed her whole time, and, being 
naturally rather austere and imperious, he 
wished so to seclude her from the society of 
others as to monopolize all her capabilities of 
friendly feeling. She submitted to the exaction 
without a murmur, though there were hours in 
which she felt that she had made, indeed, a 
serious sacrifice of her youthful and buoyant 
affections. Madame Roland devoted herself so 
entirely to the studies in which her husband 
was engaged that her health was seriously im- 
paired. Accustomed as she was to share in all 
his pursuits, he began to think that he could 
not do without her at any time or on any 
occasion. 



78 MADAME KOLAJin). 

At the close of the year M. Roland returned 
to Amiens with his wife. She soon gave birth 
to a daughter, her only child, whom she nur- 
tured with the most assiduous care. Her lit- 
erary labors were, however, unremitted, and, 
though a mother and a nurse, she still lived in 
the study with her books and her pen. M. Ro- 
land was writing several articles for an ency- 
clopedia. She aided most efficiently in collect- 
ing the materials and arranging the matter. 
Indeed, she wielded a far more vigorous pen 
than he did. Her copiousness of language, her 
facility of expression, and the play of her fancy, 
gave her the command of a very fascinating 
style ; and M. Roland obtained the credit for 
many passages rich in diction and beautiful in 
imagery for which he was indebted to the glow- 
ing imagination of his wife. Frequent sick- 
ness of her husband alarmed her for his life. 
The tenderness with which she watched over 
him strengthened the tie which united them. 
He could not but love a young and beautiful 
wife so devoted to him. She could not but 
love one upon whom she was conferring such 
rich blessings. They remained in Amiens for 
four years. Their little daughter Eudora was 
a source of great delight to the fond parents, 
and Madame Roland took the deepest interest 
in the developments of her infantile mind. 
The office of M. Roland was highly lucrative. 



MARRIAGE. 79 

and his literary projects successful ; and their 
position in society was that of an opulent family 
of illustrious descent — for the ancestors of M. 
Eoland had been nobles. He now, with his ac- 
cumulated wealth, was desirous of being rein- 
stated in that ancestral rank which the family 
had lost with the loss of fortune. Neither 
must we blame our republican heroine too much 
that, under this change of circumstances, she 
was not unwilling that he should resume that 
exalted social position to which she believed 
him to be so richly entitled. It could hardly 
be unpleasant to her to be addressed as Lady 
Eoland. It is the infirmity of our frail nature 
that it is more agreeable to ascend to the heights 
of those who are above us, than to aid those 
below to reach the level we have attained. En- 
countering some embarrassments in their ap- 
plication for letters-patent of nobility, the sub- 
ject was set aside for the time, and was never 
after renewed. The attempt, however, sub- 
sequently exposed them to great ridicule from 
their democratic opponents. 

About this time they visited England. They 
were received with much attention, and Ma- 
dame Eoland admired exceedingly the compar- 
atively free institutions of that country. She 
felt that the English, as a nation, were im- 
measurably superior to the French, and returned 
to her own home more than ever dissatisfied 



80 MADAME ROLAND. 

with the despotic monarchy by which the people 
of French were oppressed. 

From Amiens, M. Eoland removed to the 
city of Lyons, his native place, in which wider 
sphere he continued the duties of his office as 
Inspector General of Commerce and Manufac- 
tures. In the winter they resided in the city. 
During the summer they retired to M. Roland's 
paternal estate. La Platiere, a very beautiful 
rural retreat but a few miles from Lyons, The 
mother of M. Roland and an elder brother re- 
sided on the same estate. They constituted 
the ingredient of bitterness in their cup of joy. 
It seems that in this life it must ever be that 
each pleasure shall have its pain. No happiness 
can come unalloyed. La Platiere possessed for 
Madame Roland all the essentials of an earthly 
paradise ; but those trials which are the unva- 
rying lot of fallen humanity obtained entrance 
there. Her mother-in-law was proud, imperi- 
ous, ignorant, petulant, and disagreeable in 
every development of character. There are 
few greater annoyances of life than an irritable 
woman, rendered doubly morose by the infirm- 
ities of years. The brother was coarse and ar- 
rogant, without any delicacy of feeling himself, 
and apparently unconscious that others could 
be troubled by any such sensitiveness. The 
disciplined spirit of Madame Roland triumphed 
over even these annoyances, and she gradually 



MARRIAGE. 81 

infused through the discordant household, by 
her own cheerful spirit, a great improvement 
in harmony and peace. It is not, however, 
possible that Madame Koland should have shed 
many tears when, on one bright autumnal day, 
this hasty tongue and turbulent spirit were 
hushed in that repose from which there is no 
awaking. Immediately after this event, at- 
tracted by the quiet of this secluded retreat, 
they took up their abode there for both sum- 
mer and winter. 

La Platiere, the paternal inheritance of M. 
Roland, was an estate situated at the base of 
the mountains of Beaujolais, in the valley of 
the Saone. It is a region solitary and wild, 
with rivulets, meandering down from the 
mountains, fringed with willows and poplars, 
and threading their way through narrow, yet 
smooth and fertile meadows, luxuriant with 
vineyards. A large, square stone house, with 
regular windows, and a roof, nearly flat, of red 
tiles, constituted the comfortable, spacious, and 
substantial mansion. The eaves projected quite 
a distance beyond the walls, to protect the 
windows from the summer^s sun and the winter's 
rain and snow. The external walls, straight, 
and entirely unornamented, were covered with 
white plaster, which, in many places, the storms 
of years had cracked and peeled off. The 
house stood elevated from the ground, and the 



82 MADAME ROLAND. 

front door was entered by ascending five mas- 
sive stone steps, which were surmounted by a 
rusty iron balustrade. Barns, wine-presses, 
dove-cots and sheep-pens were clustered about, 
so that the farm-house, with its out-buildings, 
almost presented the aspect of a little village. 
A vegetable garden ; a flower garden, with ser- 
pentine walks and arbors embowered in odorifer- 
ous and flowering shrubs ; an orchard, casting 
the shade of a great variety of fruit-trees over 
the closely-mown greensward, and a vineyard, 
with long lines of low-trimmed grape vines, 
gave a finish to this most rural and attractive 
picture. In the distance was seen the rugged 
range of the mountains of Beaujolais, while 
still further in the distance rose towering above 
them the snow-capped summits of the Alps. 
Here, in this social solitude, in this harmony 
of silence, in this wide expanse of nature, Ma- 
dame Roland passed five of the happiest years 
of her life — five such years as few mortals en- 
joy on earth. She, whose spirit had been so 
often exhilarated by the view of the tree tops 
and the few square yards of blue sky which 
were visible from the window of her city home, 
was enchanted with the exuberance of the 
prospect of mountain and meadow, water and 
sky, so lavishly spread out before her. The ex- 
panse, apparently so limitless, open to her 
view, invited her fancy to a range equally 



MARRIAGE. 83 

boundless. Nature and imagination were her 
friends, and in their realms she found her 
home. Enjoying an ample income, engaged 
constantly in the most ennobling literary pur- 
suits, rejoicing in the society of her husband 
and her little Eudora, and superintending her 
domestic concerns with an ease and skill which 
made that superintendence a pleasure, time flew 
upon its swiftest wings. 

Her mode of life during these five calm and 
sunny years which intervened between the 
cloudy morning and the tempestuous evening 
of her days, must have been exceedingly attrac- 
tive. She rose with the sun, devoted sundry 
attentions to her husband and child, and per- 
sonally superintended the arrangements for 
breakfast, taking an affectionate pleasure in pre- 
paring very nicely her husband's frugal food with 
her own hands. That social meal, ever, in a lov- 
ing family, the most joyous interview of the day, 
being passed, M. Roland entered the library 
for his intellectual toil, taking with him, for 
his silent companion, the idolized little Eudora. 
She amused herself with her pencil, or reading, 
or other studies, which her father and mother 
superintended. Madame Roland, in the mean- 
time, devoted herself, with most systematic 
energy, to her domestic concerns. She was a 
perfect housekeeper, and each morning all the 
interests of her family, from the cellar to the 



84 MADAME ROLAND. 

garret, passed under her eye. She superintend- 
ed the preservation of the fruit, the storage 
of the wine, the sorting of the linen, and those 
other details of domestic life which engross the 
attention of a good housewife. The systematic 
division of time, which seemed to be an instinc- 
tive principle of her nature, enabled her to 
accomplished all this in two hours. She had 
faithful and devoted servants to do the work. 
The superintendence was all that was required. 
This genius to superintend and be the head, 
while others contribute the hands, is not the 
most common of human endowments. Ma- 
dame Roland, having thus attended to her do- 
mestic concerns, laid aside those cares for the 
remainder of the day, and entered the study to 
join her husband in his labors there. These 
intellectual employments ever possessed for her 
peculiar attractions. The scientific celebrity 
of M. Roland, and his political position, at- 
tracted many visitors to La Plati^re ; conse- 
quently, they had, almost invariably, company 
to dine. At the close of the literary labors of 
the morning Madame Roland dressed for dinner, 
and with all that fascination of mind and 
manners so peculiarly her own, met her guests 
at the dinner-table. The labor of the day was 
then over. The repast was prolonged with 
social converse. After dinner, they walked in 
the garden, sauntered through the vineyard. 



MAEBIAGE. 85 

and looked at the innumerable objects of in- 
terest which are ever to be found in the yard 
of a spacious farm. Madame Eoland frequent- 
ly retired to the library, to write letters to her 
friends, or to superintend the lessons of Eu- 
dora. Occasionally, of a fine day, leaning upon 
her husband^s arm, she would walk for 
several miles, calling at the cottages of the peas- 
antry, whom she greatly endeared to her by 
her unvarying kindness. In the evening, after 
tea, they again resorted to the library. Guests 
of distinguished name and influence were fre- 
quently with them, and the hours glided swift- 
ly, cheered by the brilliance of philosophy and 
genius. The journals of the day were read, 
Madame Eoland being usually called upon as 
reader. When not thus reading, she usually 
sat at her work-table, employing her fingers 
with her needle, while she took a quiet and 
unobtrusive part in the conversation. " This 
kind of life,*' says Madame Eoland, '' would be 
very austere, were not my husband a man of 
great merit, whom I love with my whole heart. 
Tender friendship and unbounded confidence 
mark every moment of existence, and stamp a 
value upon all things, which nothing without 
them would have. It is the life most favorable 
to virtue and happiness. I appreciate its 
worth. I congratulate myself on enjoying it ; 
and I exert my best endeavors to make it last,^' 



86 MADAME EOLAND. 

Again she draws the captivating picture of 
rural pleasures. '' I am preserving pears, which 
will be delicious. We are drying raisins and 
prunes. We make our breakfast upon wine ; 
overlook the servants, busy in the vineyard ; 
repose in the shady groves, and on the green 
meadows ; gather walnuts from the trees ; 
and having collected our stock of fruit for the 
winter, spread it in the garret to dry. After 
breakfast this morning, we are all going in a 
body to gather almonds. Throw off, then, 
dear friend, your fetters for a while, and come 
and join us in our retreat. You will find 
here true friendship and real simplicity of 
heart." 

Madame Eoland, among her other innumer- 
able accomplishments, had acquired no little 
skill in the science of medicine. Situated in a 
region where the poor peasants had no access 
to physicians, she was not only liberal in distrib- 
uting among them many little comforts, but, 
with the most self-denying assiduity, she visit- 
ed them in sickness, and prescribed for their 
maladies. She was often sent for, to go a dis- 
tance of ten or twelve miles to visit the sick. 
From such appeals she never turned away. On 
Sundays, her courtyard was filled with peasants, 
who had assembled from all the region round, 
some as invalids, to seek relief, and others who 
came with such little tokens of their gratitude as 



MARRIAGE. 87 

their poverty enabled them to bring. Here 
appears a little rosy-cheeked boy with a basket 
of chestnuts ; or a care-worn mother, pale and 
thin, but with a grateful eye, presenting to her 
benefactress a few small, fragrant cheeses, made 
of goat's milk ; and there is an old man, hob- 
bling upon crutches, with a basket of apples 
from his orchard. She was delighted with 
these indications of gratitude and sensibility on 
the part of the unenlightened and lowly peas- 
antry. Her republican notions, which she had 
cherished so fondly in her early years, but from 
which she had somewhat swerved when seeking 
a patent of nobility for her husband, began now 
to revive in her bosom with new ardor. She 
was regarded as peculiarly the friend of the 
poor and the humble ; and at all the hearth- 
fires in the cottages of that retired valley, her 
name was pronounced in tones almost of adora- 
tion. More and more Madame Roland and 
her husband began to identify their interests 
with those of the poor around them, and to 
plead with tongue and pen for popular rights. 
Her intercourse with the poor led her to feel 
more deeply the oppression of laws, framed to 
indulge the few in luxury, while the many 
were consigned to penury and hopeless igno- 
rance. She acquired boundless faith in the 
virtue of the people, and thought that their 
disenthralment would usher in a millennium 



88 



MADAME ROLAND. 



of unalloyed happiness. She now saw the 
ocean of human passions reposing in its perfect 
calm. She afterwards saw that same ocean 
when lashed by the tempest. 




Jean Marie Roland de la Platiere. 



j^*Jti^^^)^m 


1^ 


{^ ^'MK'cS'^^iVf 


i| 









CHAPTER V. 

THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 

Madame Roland was thus living at La 
Platiere, in the enjoyment of all that this 
world can give of peace and happiness, when 
the first portentous mutterings of that terrible 
moral tempest, the French Revolution, fell 
upon her ears. She eagerly caught the sounds, 
and, believing them the precursor of the most 
signal political and social blessings, rejoiced 
in the assurance that the hour was approaching 
when long-oppressed humanity would reassert 
its rights and achieve its triumph. Little did 
she dream of the woes which in surging billows 
were to roll over her country, and which were 
to ingulf her, and all whom she loved, in their 
resistless tide. She dreamed — a very pardon- 
able dream for a philanthropic lady — that an 
ignorant and enslaved people could be led from 
Egyptian bondage to the promised land with- 
out the weary sufferings of the wilderness and 
the desert. Her faith in the regenerative ca- 
pabilities of human nature was so strong, that 
she could foresee no obstacles and no dangers 

89 



90 MADAME EOLAND. 

in the way of immediate and universal disfranch- 
isement from every custom, and from all laws 
and usages which her judgment disapproved. 
Her whole soul was aroused, and she devoted 
all her affections and every energy of her mind 
to the welfare of the human race. It is hardly 
to be supposed, human nature being such as 
it is, but that the mortifications she met in 
early life from the arrogance of those above 
her, and the difficulties she encountered in 
obtaining letters-patent of nobility, exerted 
some influence in animating her zeal. Her en- 
thusiastic devotion stimulated the ardor of her 
less excitable spouse ; and all her friends, by her 
fascinating powers of eloquence both of voice 
and pen, were gradually inspired by the same 
intense emfotions which had absorbed her whole 
being. 

Louis XVI. and Maria Antoinette had but 
recently inherited the throne of the Bourbons. 
Louis was benevolent, but destitute of the de- 
cision of character requisite to hold the reins of 
government in so stormy a period. Maria An- 
toinette had neither culture of mind nor knowl- 
edge of the world. She was an amiable but 
spoiled child, with great native nobleness of 
character, but with those defects which are the 
natural and inevitable consequence of the friv- 
olous education she had received. She thought 
never of duty and responsibility ; always and 



THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 91 

only of pleasure. It was her misfortune rather 
than her fault, that the idea never entered her 
mind that kings and queens had aught else to 
do than to indulge in luxury. It would be 
hardly possible to conceive of two characters 
less quafified to occupy the throne in stormy 
times than were Louis and Maria. The peo- 
ple were slowly, but with resistless power, ris- 
ing against the abuses, enormous and hoary 
with age, of the aristocracy and the monarchy. 
Louis, a man of unblemished kindness, integ- 
rity, and purity, was made the scape-goat for 
the sins of haughty, oppressive, profligate 
princes, who for centuries had trodden, with 
iron hoofs upon the necks of their subjects. 
The accumulated hate of ages was poured upon 
his devoted head. The irresolute monarch 
had no conception of his position. 

The king, in pursuance of his system of con- 
ciliation, as the clamors of discontent swelled 
louder and longer from all parts of France, con- 
vened the National Assembly. This body con- 
sisted of the nobility, the higher clergy, and rep- 
resentatives, chosen by the people from all parts 
of France. M. Eoland, who was quite an idol 
with the populace of Lyons and its vicinity, 
and who now was beginning to lose caste with 
the aristocracy, was chosen, by a very strong 
vote, as the representative to the Assembly 
from the city of Lyons. In that busy city the 



92 MADAME EOLAND. 

revolutionary movement had commenced with 
great power, and the name of Roland was the 
rallying point of the people now struggling to 
escape from ages of oppression. M. Roland 
spent some time in his city residence, drawn 
thither by the intense interest of the times, and 
in the saloon of Madame Roland meetings were 
every evening held by the most influential gen- 
tlemen of the revolutionary party. Her ardor 
stimulated their zeal, and her well-stored mind 
and fascinating conversational eloquence guid- 
ed their councils. The impetuous young men 
of the city gathered around this impassioned 
woman, from whose lips words of liberty fell so 
enchantingly upon their ears, and with chival- 
ric devotion surrendered themselves to the 
guidance of her mind. 

In this rising conflict between plebeian and 
patrician, between democrat and aristocrat, the 
position in which M. Roland and wife were 
placed, as most conspicuous and influential 
members of the revolutionary party, arrayed 
against them, with daily increasing animosity, 
all the aristocratic community of Lyons. Each 
day their names were pronounced by the advo- 
cates of reform with more enthusiasm, and by 
their opponents with deepening hostility. The 
applause and censure alike invigorated Ma- 
dame Roland, and her whole soul became ab- 
sorbed in the one idea of popular liberty. This 



THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 9S 

object became her passion, and she devoted her- 
self to it with the concentration of every energy 
of mind and heart. 

On the 20th of February, 1791, Madame Eo- 
land accompanied her husband to Paris, as he 
took his seat, with a name already prominent, 
in the National Assembly. Five years before, 
she had left the metropolis in obscurity and de- 
pression. She now returned with wealth, with 
elevated rank, with brilliant reputation, and ex- 
ulting in conscious power. Her persuasive in- 
fluence was dictating those measures which 
were driving the ancient nobility of France 
from their chateaux, and her vigorous mind was 
guiding those blows before which the throne of 
the Bourbons trembled. The unblemished and 
incorruptible integrity of M. Roland, his sim- 
plicity of manners and acknowledged ability, 
invested him immediately with much authority 
among his associates. The brilliance of his 
wife, and her most fascinating colloquial powers, 
also reflected much luster upon his name. 
Madame Roland, with her glowing zeal, had 
just written a pamphlet upon the new order of 
things, in language so powerful and impressive 
that more than sixty thousand copies had been 
sold — an enormous number, considering the 
comparative fewness of readers at that time. 
She, of course, was received with the most flat- 
tering attention, and great deference was paid 



94 MADAME EOLANfi. 

to her opinions. She attended daily the sit- 
tings of the Assembly, and listened with the 
deepest interest to the debates. The king and 
queen had already been torn from their palaces 
at Versailles, and were virtually prisoners in 
the Tuileries. Many of the nobles had fled 
from the perils which seemed to be gathering 
around them, and had joined the army of emi- 
grants at Coblentz. A few, however, of the 
nobility, and many of the higher clergy, re- 
mained heroically at their posts, and, as mem- 
bers of the Assembly, made valiant but unavail- 
ing efforts to defend the ancient prerogatives of 
the crown and of the Church. Madame Koland 
witnessed with mortification, which she could 
neither repress nor conceal, the decided supe- 
riority of the court party in dignity, and polish 
of manners, and in general intellectual culture, 
over those of plebeian origin, who were strug- 
gling, with the energy of an infant Hercules, 
for the overthrow of despotic power. All her 
tastes were with the ancient nobility and their 
defenders. All her 'principles were with the 
people. And as she contrasted the unrefined 
exterior and clumsy speech of the democratic 
leaders with the courtly bearing and elegant 
diction of those who rallied around the throne, 
she was aroused to a more vehement desire for 
the social and intellectual elevation of those 
with whom she had cast in her lot. The con- 



THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 95 

flict with the nobles was of short continuance. 
The energy of rising democracy soon vanquished 
them. Violence took the place of law. And 
now the conflict for power arose between those 
of the Eepnblicans who were mQre and those 
who were less radical in their plans of reform. 
The most moderate party, consisting of those 
who would sustain the throne, but limit its 
powers by a free constitution, retaining many 
of the institutions and customs which antiquity 
had rendered venerable, was called the Giron- 
dist party. It was so called because their most 
prominent leaders were from the department 
of the Gironde. They would deprive the king 
of many of his prerogatives, but not of his crown. 
They would take from him his despotic power, 
but not his life. They would raise the mass of 
the people to the enjoyment of liberty, but to 
liberty controlled by vigorous law. Opposed 
to them were the Jacobins — far more radicalin 
their views of reform. They would overthrow 
both throne and altar, break down all privileged 
orders, confiscate the property of the nobles, 
and place prince and beggar on the footing of 
equality. These were the two great parties 
into which revolutionary France was divided, 
and the conflict between them was the most 
fierce and implacable earth has ever witnessed, 
M. Roland and wife, occupying a residence in 
Paris, which was a convenient place of rendez- 



% MADAME KOLAND. 

vous, by their attractions gathered around them 
every evening many of the most influential 
members of the Assembly. They attached 
themselves, with all their zeal and energy, to 
the Girondists. Four evenings of every week 
the leaders of this party met in the saloon of 
Madame Koland, to deliberate respecting their 
measures. Among them there was a young 
lawyer from the country, with a stupid expres- 
sion of countenance, sallow complexion, and un- 
gainly gestures, who had made himself excess- 
ively unpopular by the prosy speeches with 
which he was ever wearying the Assembly. 
He had often been floored by argument and 
coughed down by contempt, but he seemed alike 
insensible to sarcasm and to insult. Alone in 
the Assembly, without a friend, he attacked all 
parties alike, and was by all disregarded. But 
he possessed an indomitable energy, and un- 
wavering fixedness of purpose, a profound con- 
tempt for luxury and wealth, and a stoical in- 
difference to reputation and to personal indul- 
gence, which secured to him more and more of 
an ascendency, until, at the name of Robes- 
pierre, all France trembled. This young man, 
silent and moody, appeared with others in the 
saloon of Madame Roland. She was struck 
with his singularity, and impressed with an in- 
stinctive consciousness of his peculiar genius. 
He was capti^ ated Ly those charme of conver- 




Madame Roland, 

Louis XVI. and the Mob. [See p. 122. ) 



TH?J NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 97 

sation in which Madame Roland was unrivaled. 
Silently — for he had no conversational powers 
— he lingered around her chair, treasured up 
her spontaneous tropes and metaphors, and ab- 
sorbed her sentiments. He had a clear percep- 
tion of the state of the times, was perhaps a 
sincere patriot, and had no ties of friendship, 
no scruples of conscience, no instincts of mercy, 
to turn him aside from any measures of blood 
or wo which might accomplish his plans. 

Though the Girondists and the Jacobins were 
the two great parties now contending in the tu- 
multuous arena of French revolution, there still 
remained the enfeebled and broken remains of 
the court party, with their insulted and humil- 
iated king at their head, and also numerous 
cliques and minor divisions of those struggling 
for power. At the political evening reunions 
in the saloon of Madame Roland, she was inva- 
riably present, not as a prominent actor in the 
scenes, taking a conspicuous part in the social 
debates, but as a quiet and modest lady, of well- 
known intellectual supremacy, whose active 
mind took the liveliest interest in the agitations 
of the hour. The influence she exerted was 
the polished, refined, attractive influence of an 
accomplished woman, who moved in her own 
appropriate sphere. She made no Amazonian 
speeches. She mingled not with men in the 
clamor of debate. With an invisible band she 



98 MADAME BOLAKD. 

gently and winningly touched the springs of 
action in other hearts. With feminine conyer- 
sational eloquence, she threw out sagacious sug- 
gestions, which others eagerly adopted, and ad- 
vocated, and carried into vigorous execution. 
She did no violence to that delicacy of percep- 
tion which is woman's tower and strength. She 
moved not from that sphere where woman 
reigns so resistlessly, and dreamed not of lay- 
ing aside the graceful and polished weapons of 
her own sex, to grasp the heavier and coarser 
armor of man, which no woman can wield. By 
such an endeavor, one does but excite the re- 
pugnance of all except the unfortunate few, 
who can see no peculiar sacredness in woman's 
person, mind, or heart. 

As the gentlemen assembled in the retired 
parlor, or rather library and study, appropriated 
to these confidential interviews, Madame Ro- 
land took her seat at a little work-t^ble, aside 
from the circle where her husband and his 
friends were discussing their political measures. 
Busy with her needle or with her pen, she lis- 
tened to every word that was uttered, and often 
bit her lips to check the almost irrepressible 
desire to speak out in condemnation of some 
feeble proposal or to urge some bolder action. 
At the close of the evening, when frank and 
social converse ensued, her voice was heard in 
low, but sweet and winning tones, as one after 



THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 99 

another of the members were attracted to her 
side. Kobespierre, at such times silent and 
thoughtful, was ever bending over her chair. 
He studied Madame Roland with even more of 
stoical apathy than another man would study a 
book which he admires. The next day his com- 
panions would smile at the effrontery with 
which Robespierre would give utterance, in the 
Assembly, not only to the sentiments, but even 
to the very words and phrases which he had so 
carefully garnered from the exuberant diction 
of his eloquent instructress. Occasionally, 
every eye would be riveted upon him, and every 
ear attentive, as he gave utterance to some lofty 
sentiment, in impassioned language, which had 
been heard before, in sweeter tones, from more 
persuasive lips. 

But the Revolution, like a spirit of destruc- 
tion, was now careering onward with resistless 
power. Liberty was becoming lawlessness. 
Mobs rioted through the streets, burned cha- 
teaux, demolished convents, hunted, even to 
death, priests and nobles, sacked the palaces of 
the king, and defiled the altars of religion. The 
Girondists, illustrious, eloquent, patriotic men, 
sincerely desirous of breaking the arm of des- 
potism and of introducing a well-regulated lib- 
erty, now began to tremble. They saw that a 
spirit was evoked which might trample every- 
thing sacred in the dust. Their opponents, the 



loo MADAME ROLAND. 

Jacobins, rallying the populace around them 
with the cry, " Kill, burn destroy," were for 
rushing onward in this career of demolition, till 
every vestige of gradations of rank and every 
restraint of religion should be swept from the 
land. The Girondists paused in deep embar- 
rassment. They could not retrace their steps 
and try to re-establish the throne. The en- 
deavor would not only be utterly unavailing, 
but would, with certainty, involve them in 
speedy and retrieveless ruin. They could not 
unite with the Jacobins in their reckless onset 
upon everything which time had rendered 
venerable, and substitute for decency, and law, 
and order, the capricious volitions of an inso- 
lent, ignorant, and degraded mob. The only 
hope that remained for them was to struggle 
to continue firm in the position which they 
had already assumed. It was the only hope 
for France. The restoration of the monarchy 
was impossible. The triumph of the Jacobins 
was ruin. Which of these two parties in the 
Assembly shall array around its banners the 
millions of the populace of France, now 
aroused to the full consciousness of their power ? 
Which can bid highest for the popular vote ? 
Which can pander most successfully to the 
popular palate ? The Girondists had talent, 
and integrity, and incorruptible patriotism. 
They foresaw their peril, but they resolved to 



THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 101 

meet it, and, if they must perish, to perish with 
their armor on. No one discerned this danger 
at an earlier period than Madame Eoland. She 
warned her friends of its approach, even be- 
fore they were conscious of the gulf to which 
were tending. She urged the adoption of pre- 
cautionary measures, by which a retreat might 
be effected when their post should be no longer 
tenable. ^' I once thought,^' said Madame Ro- 
land, ''that there were no evils worse than 
regal despotism. I now see that there are* 
other calamities vastly more to be dreaded.^' 

Robespierre, who had associated with the 
Girondists with rather a sullen and Ishmaelitisk 
spirit, holding himself in readiness to go here or 
there, as events might indicate to be politic, 
began now to incline toward the more popular 
party, of which he subsequently became the in- 
spiring demon. Though he was daily attracting 
more attention, he had not yet risen to populari- 
ty. On one occasion, being accused of advocat- 
ing some unpopular measure, the clamors of the 
multitude were raised against him, and vows of 
vengeance were uttered, loud and deep, through 
the streets of Paris. His enemies in the Assem- 
bly took advantage of this to bring an act of 
accusation against him, which would relieve 
them of his presence by the decisive energy of 
the ax of the guillotine. Robespierre's danger 
was most imminent, and he was obliged to con- 



102 MADAME EOLAND. 

ceal himself. Madame Roland, inspired by 
those courageous impulses which ever enno- 
bled her, went at midnight, accompanied by 
her husband, to his retreat, to invite him to a 
more secure asylum in their own house. 
Madame Roland then hastened to a very in- 
fluential friend, M. Busot, allowing no weari- 
ness to interrupt her philanthropy, and entreated 
him to hasten immediately and endeavor to 
exculpate Robespierre, before an act of accusa- 
tion should be issued against him. M. Busot 
hesitated, but, unable to resist the earnest 
appeal of Madame Roland, replied, *' I will do 
all in my power to save this unfortunate young 
man, although I am far from partaking the 
opinion of many respecting him. He thinks 
too much of himself to love liberty ; but he 
serves it, and that is enough for me. I will 
defend him." Thus was the life of Robespierre 
saved. He lived to reward his benefactors by 
consigning them all to prison and to death. 
Says Lamartine sublimely, '^Beneath the dun- 
geons of the Conciergerie, Madame Roland 
remembered that night with satisfaction. If 
Robespierre recalled it in his power, this 
memory must have fallen colder upon his heart 
than the ax of the headsman." 

The powerful influence which Madame Ro- 
land was thus exerting could not be concealed. 
Her husband became more illustrious through 



THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 103 

that brilliance she was ever anxious to reflect 
upon him. She appeared to have no ambition 
for personal renown. She sought only to elevate 
the position and expand the celebrity of her 
companion. It was whispered from ear to ear, 
and now and then openly asserted in the 
Assembly, that the bold and decisive measures 
of the Girondists received their impulse from 
the youthful and lovely wife of M. Roland. 

In September, 1791, the Assembly was dis- 
solved, and M. and Madame Roland returned 
to the rural quiet of La Platiere. But in 
pruning the vines, and feeding the poultry, and 
cultivating the flowers which so peacefully 
bloomed in their garden, they could not forget 
the exciting scenes through which they had 
passed, and the still more exciting scenes 
which they foresaw were to come. She 
kept up a constant correspondence with 
Robespierre and Busot, and furnished many 
very able articles for a widely-circulated journal, 
established by the Girondists for the advocacy 
of their political views. The question now 
arose between herself and her husband whether 
they should relinquish the agitations and the 
perils of a political life in these stormy times, 
and cloister themselves in rural seclusion, in 
the calm luxury of literary and scientific enter- 
prise, or launch forth again upon the storm- 
swept ocean of revolution and anarchy. Few 

8— Boland 



104 MADAME ROLAND. 

who understand the human heart will doubt of 
the decision to which they came. The chickens 
were left in the yard, the rabbits in the warren, 
and the flowers were abandoned to bloom in 
solitude; and before the snows of December 
had whitened the hills, they were again installed 
in tumultuous Paris. A new Assembly had 
just been convened, from which all the mem- 
bers of the one but recently dissolved were by 
law excluded. Their friends were rapidly 
assembling in Paris from their summer re- 
treats, and influential men, from all parts of 
the empire, were gathering in the metropolis, 
to watch the progress of affairs. Clubs were 
formed to discuss the great questions of the 
day, to mold public opinion, and to overawe 
the Assembly. It was a period of darkness 
and of gloom ; but there is something so 
intoxicating in the draughts of homage and 
power, that those who have once quaffed them 
find all milder stimulants stale and insipid. 
No sooner were M. and Madame Roland estab- 
lished in their city residence, than they were 
involved in all the plots and the counterplots 
of the Revolution. M. Roland was grave, taci- 
turn, oracular. He had no brillance of talent 
to excite envy. He displayed no ostentation in 
dress, or equipage, or manners, to provoke the 
desire in others to humble him. His reputation 
for stoical virtue gave a wide sweep to his influ- 




-L k'^. 



'^ 







Madame Roland, " ,' if g 

Sacking the House of a Royalist. [See p. 134-) 



THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 106 

ence. His very silence invested him with a 
mysterious wisdom. Consequently, no one 
feared him as a rival, and he was freely thrust 
forward as the unobjectionable head of a party 
by all who hoped through him to promote their 
own interests. He was what we call in America 
an available candidate. Madame Roland, on 
the contrary, was animated and brilliant. Her 
genius was universally admired. Her bold 
suggestions, her shrewd counsel, her lively 
repartee, her capability of cutting sarcasm, 
rarely exercised, her deep and impassioned be- 
nevolence, her unvarying cheerfulness, the 
sincerity and enthusiasm of her philanthrop}", 
and ' the unrivaled brilliance of her conversa- 
tional powers, made her the center of a system 
around which the brightest intellects were 
revolving. Vergniaud, Petion, Brissot, and 
others, whose names were then comparatively 
unknown, but whose fame has since resounded 
through the civilized world, loved to do her 
homage. 

The spirit of the devolution was still advanc- 
ing with gigantic strides, and the already shat- 
tered throne was reeling beneath the redoubled 
blows of the insurgent people. Massacres were 
rife all over the kingdom. The sky was night- 
ly illumined by conflagrations. The nobles 
were abandoning thefp estates, and escaping 
ff^m pei'ils au4 death io take refuge in th© 



106 MADAME ROLAND. 

bosom of the little army of emigrants at Coblentz, 
The king, insulted and a prisoner, reigned but 
in name. Under these circumstances, Louis 
was compelled to dismiss his ministry and to 
call in another more acceptable to the people. 
The king hoped, by the appointment of a Ee- 
publican ministry, to pacify the democratic 
spirit. There was no other resource left him 
but abdication. It was a bitter cup for him to 
drink. His proud and spirited queen declared 
that she would rather die than throw herself 
into the arms of Repuhlicayis for protection. 
He yielded to the pressure, dismissed his min- 
isters, and surrendered himself to the Girond- 
ists for the appointment of a new ministry. 
The Girondists called upon M. Eoland to take 
the important post of Minister of the Interior. 
It was a perilous position to fill, but what dan- 
ger will not ambition face ? In the present 
posture of affairs, the Minister of the Interior 
was the monarch of France. M. Roland, whose 
quiet and hidden ambition had been feeding 
upon its success, smiled nervously at the power 
which, thus unsolicited, was passing into his 
hands. Madame Eoland, whose all-absorbing 
passion it now was to elevate her husband to 
the highest summits of greatness, was gratified 
in view of the honor and agitated in view of the 
peril ; but, to her exalted spirit, the greater the 
danger, the more heroic the act. ^* The burden 



THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 107 

is heavy/' she said ; " but Koland has a great 
consciousness of his own powers, and would de- 
rive fresh strength from the feeling of being 
useful to liberty and his country/^ 

In March, 1792, he entered upon his arduous 
and exalted office. The palace formerly occu- 
pied by the Controller General of Finance, most 
gorgeously furnished by Madame Necker in the 
days of her glory, was appropriated to their use. 
Madame Roland entered this splendid establish- 
ment, and, elevated in social eminence above 
the most exalted nobles of France, fulfilled all 
the complicated duties of her station with a 
grace and dignity which have never been sur- 
passed. Thus had Jane risen from that hum- 
ble position in which the daughter of the en- 
graver, in solitude, communed with her books, 
to be the mistress of a palace of aristocratic 
grandeur, and the associate of statesmen and 
princes. 

When M. Roland made his first appearance 
at court as the minister of his royal master, 
instead of arraying himself in the court-dress 
which the customs of the times required, he af- 
fected, in his costume, the simplicity of his 
principles. He wished to appear in his exalted 
station still the man of the people. He had not 
forgotten the impression produced in France by 
Franklin, as in the most republican simplicity 
jf dress he moved among the glittering throng 



108 MADAME BOLAND. 

at Versailles. He accordingly presented him- 
self at the Tuileries in a plain black coat, with 
a round hat, and dusty shoes fastened with rib- 
bons instead of buckles. The courtiers were 
indignant. The king was highly displeased at 
what he considered an act of disrespect. The 
master of ceremonies was in consternation, and 
exclaimed with a look of horror to General Da- 
muriez, '^ My dear sir, he has not even buckles 
in his shoes ! " '^ Mercy upon us ! '' exclaimed 
the old general, with the most laughable ex- 
pression of affected gravity, *' we shall then all 
go to ruin together !^' 

The king, however, soon forgot the neglect 
of etiquette in the momentous questions which 
were pressing upon his attention. He felt the 
importance of securing the confidence and good 
will of his ministers, and he approached them 
with the utmost affability and conciliation. M. 
Eoland returned from his first interview with 
the monarch quite enchanted with his excellent 
disposition and his patriotic spirit. He assured 
his wife that the community had formed a 
totally erroneous estimate of the king ; that he 
was sincerely a friend to the reforms which 
were taking place, and was a hearty supporter 
of the Constitution which had been apparently 
forced upon him. The prompt reply of Ma- 
dame Eoland displayed even more than her 
characteristic sagacity, * ' If Louis is sincerely 



THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 



109 



a friend of the Constitution, he must be virtu- 
ous beyond the common race of mortals. Mis- 
trust your own virtue, M. Eoland. You are 
only an honest countryman wandering amid a 
crowd of courtiers — virtue and danger amid a 




The Taileries. 
myriad of vices. They speak our language ; 
we do not know theirs. No ! Louis cannot 
love the chains that fetter him. He may feign 
to caress them. He thinks only of how he can 
spurn them. Fallen greatness loves not its 
decadence. ISTo man likes his humiliation. 
Trust in human nature ; that never deceives. 




CHAPTER VI. 



THE MIKISTKY OF M. KOLAN'D. 



From all the spacious apartments of the mag- 
nificent mansion allotted as the residence of 
the Minister of the Interior, Madame Koland 
selected a small and retired parlor, which she 
had furnished with every attraction as a li- 
brary and a study. This was her much-loved 
retreat, and here M. Roland, in the presence of 
his wife, was accustomed to see his friends in 
all their confidential intercourse. Thus she 
was not only made acquainted with all the im- 
portant occurrences of the times, but she formed 
an intimate personal acquaintance with the 
leading actors in these eventful movements. 
Louis, adopting a vacillating policy, in his 
endeavors to conciliate each party was losing 
the confidence and the support of all. The 
Girondists, foreseeing the danger which threat- 
ened the king and all the institutions of gov- 
ernment, were anxious that he should be per- 
suaded to abandon these mistaken measures, 

and firmly and openly advocate the reforms 
no 



THE MINISTEY OF M. ROLAND. Ill 

which had already taken place. They felt that 
if he would energetically take his stand in the 
position which the Girondists had assumed, 
there was still safety for himself and the 
nation. The Girondists, at this time, wished 
to sustain the throne, but they wished to limit 
its power and surround it by the institutions of 
republican liberty. The king, animated by his 
far more strong-minded, energetic, and ambi- 
tious queen, was slowly and reluctantly sur- 
rendering point by point as the pressure of the 
multitude compelled, while he was continually 
hoping that some change in affairs would enable 
him to regain his lost power. 

The position of the Girondists began to be 
more and more perilous. The army of emi- 
grant nobles at Coblentz, within the dominions 
of the King of Prussia, was rapidly increasing 
in numbers. Frederic was threatening, in al- 
liance with all the most powerful crowns of 
Europe, to march with a resistless army to 
Paris, reinstate the king in his lost authority, 
and take signal vengeance upon the leaders of 
Kevolution. There were hundreds of thousands 
in France, the most illustrious in rank and opu- 
lence, who would join such an army. The Ko- 
man Catholic priesthood, to a man, would lend 
to it the influence of all its spiritual authority. 
Paris was every hour agitated by rumors of the 
approach of the armies of invasion. The peo- 



112 MADAME KOLAND. 

pie all believed that Louis wished to escape 
from Paris and head that army. The king was 
spiritless, undecided, and ever vacillating in his 
plans. Maria Antoinette would have gone 
through fire and blood to have rallied those 
hosts around her banner. Such was the posi- 
tion of the Girondists in reference to the Koy- 
alists. They were ready to adopt the most 
energetic measures to repel the interference of 
this armed confederacy. 

On the other hand, they saw another party, 
noisy, turbulent, sanguinary, rising beneath 
them, and threatening with destruction all con- 
nected in any way with the execrated throne. 
This new party, now emerging from the lowest 
strata of society, upheaving all its superincum- 
bent masses, consisted of the wan, the starving, 
the haggard, the reckless. All of the abandoned 
and the dissolute rallied beneath its banners. 
They called themselves the people. Ama- 
zonian fishwomen ; overgrown boys, with the 
faces and the hearts of demons ; men and girls, 
who had no homes but the kennels of Paris, in 
countless thousands swelled its demonstrations 
of power, whenever it pleased its leaders to call 
them out. This was the Jacobin party. 

The Girondists trembled before this mysterious 
apparition now looming up before them, and 
clamoring for the overthrow of all human dis- 
tinctions. The crown had been struck from the 



THE MINISTKY OF M. ROLAND. 113 

head of the king, and was snatched at by the 
most menial and degraded of his subjects. The 
Girondists, through Madame Roland, urged the 
Minister of the Interior that he should demand 
of the king an immediate proclamation of war 
against the emigrants and their supporters, and 
that he should also issue a decree against the 
Catholic clergy who would not support the 
measures of the Revolution. It was, indeed, 
a bitter draught for the king to drink. Louis 
declared that he would rather die than sign 
such a decree. The pressure of the populace was 
so tremendous, displayed in mobs, and conflagra- 
tions and massacres, that these decisive measures 
seemed absolutely indispensable for the preserva- 
tion of the Grirondist party and the safety of the 
king. M. Roland was urged to present to the 
throne a most earnest letter of expostulation and 
advice. Madame Roland sat down at her desk 
and wrote the letter for her husband. It was 
expressed in that glowing and impassioned style 
so eminently at her command. Its fervid 
eloquence was inspired by the foresight she had 
of impending perils. M. Roland, impressed by 
its eloquence, yet almost trembling in view of its 
boldness and its truths, presented the letter to 
the king. Its last paragraphs will give one some 
idea of its character. 

'' Love, serve the Revolution, and the people 
will love it and serve it in you. Deposed priests 



114 MADAME KOLAND. 

agitate the provinces. Ratify the measures to 
extirpate their fanaticism. Paris trembles in 
view of its danger. Surround its walls with an 
army of defense. Delay longer, and you will be 
deemed a conspirator and an accomplice. Just 
Heaven ! hast thou stricken kings with blind- 
ness ? I know that truth is rarely welcomed at 
the foot of thrones. I know, too, that the 
withholding of truth from kings renders rovolu- 
tions so often necessary. As a citizen, a min- 
ister, I owe truth to the king, and nothing shall 
prevent me from making it reach his ear." 

The advice contained in this letter was most 
unpalatable to the enfeebled monarch. The 
adoption of the course it recommended was 
apparently his only chance of refuge from cer- 
tain destruction. We must respect the mag- 
nanimity of the king in refusing to sign the 
decree against the firmest friends of his throne, 
and we must also respect those who were strug- 
gling against despotic power for the establish- 
ment of civil and religious freedom. When we 
think of the king and his suffering family, our 
sympathies are so enlisted in behalf of their 
woes that we condemn the letter as harsh and 
unfeeling. When we think for how many ages 
the people of France had been crushed into 
poverty and debasement, we rejoice to hear stern 
and uncompromising truth fall upon the ear of 
royalty. And yet Madame Roland's letter rather 



THE MINISTRY OF M. ROLAND. 116 

excites our admiration for her wonderful abilities 
than allures us to her by developments of female 
loveliness. This celebrated letter was presented 
to the king on the 11th of June, 1792. On the 
same day M. Koland received a letter from the 
king informing him that he was dismissed from 
office. It is impossible to refrain from applaud- 
ing the king for this manifestation of spirit and 
self-respect. Had he exhibited more of this 
energy, he might at least have had the honor of 
dying more gloriously ; but, as the intrepid 
wife of the minister dictated the letter to the 
king, we cannot doubt that it was the imperious 
wife of the king who dictated the dismissal in 
reply. Maria Antoinette and Madame Roland 
met as Greek meets Greek. 

"Here am I, dismissed from office," was M. 
Roland's exclamation to his wife on his return 
home. 

" Present your letter to the Assembly, that 
the nation may see for what counsel you have 
been dismissed," replied the undaunted wife. 

M. Roland did so. He was received as a 
martyr to patriotism. The letter was read amid 
the loudest applauses. It was ordered to be 
printed, and circulated by tens of thousands 
through the eighty-three departments of the 
kingdom ; and from all those departments there 
came rolling back upon the metropolis the echo 
of the most tumultuous indignation and 



116 MADAME ROLAND. 

applause. The famous letter was read by all 
France — ^nay, more, by all Europe. Roland 
was a hero. The plaudits of the million fell upon 
the ear of the defeated minister, while the 
execrations of the million rose more loudly, and 
ominously around the tottering throne. This 
blow, struck by Madame Roland, was by far 
the heaviest the throne of Prance had yet 
received. She who so loved to play the part of 
a heroine was not at all dismayed by defeat, 
when it came with such an aggrandizement of 
power. Upon this wave of enthusiastic popu- 
larity Madame Roland and her husband retired 
from the magnificent palace where they had 
dwelt for so short a time, and, with a little 
pardonable ostentation, selected for their retreat 
very humble apartments in an apparently 
obscure street of the agitated metropolis. It 
was the retirement of a philosopher proud of the 
gloom of his garret. But M. Roland and wife 
were more powerful now than ever before. The 
famous letter had placed them in the front 
ranks of the friends of reform, and enshrined 
them in the hearts of the ever fickle populace. 
Even the Jacobins were compelled to swell the 
universal voice of commendation. M. Roland's 
apartments were ever thronged. All important 
plans were discussed and shaped by him and 
his wife before they were presented in the As- 



tUK MINISTRY OF M. BOLAND. lit 

There was a youn^ statesman then in Paris 
named Barbaroux, of remarkable beauty of per- 
son, and of the richest mental endowments. 
The elegance of his stature and the pensive 
melancholy of his classic features invested him 
with a peculiar power of fascination. Between 
him and Madame Roland there existed the most 
pure, though the strongest friendship. One day 
he was sitting with M. Roland and wife, in so- 
cial conference upon the desperate troubles of 
the times, when the dismissed minister said to 
him, '^ What is to be done to save France ? 
There is no army upon which we can rely to 
resist invasion. Unless we can circumvent the 
plots of the court, all we have gained is lost. 
In six weeks the Austrians will be at Paris. 
Have we, then, labored at the most glorious of 
revolutions for so many years, to see it over- 
thrown in a single day ? If liberty dies in 
France, it is lost forever to mankind. All the 
hopes of philosophy are deceived. Prejudice 
and tyranny will again grasp the world. Let 
us prevent this misfortune. If the armies of 
despotism overrun the north of France, let us 
retire to the southern provinces, and there 
establish a republic of freemen.'' 

The tears glistened in the eyes of his wife as 
she listened to this bold proposal, so heroic in 
its conception, so full of hazard, and demanding 
such miracles of self-sacrifice and devotion. 

9-Roland 



118 MADAME KOLAND. 

Madame Koland, who perhaps originally sng- 
gested the idea to her husband, urged it with 
all her impassioned energy. Barbaroux was 
just the man to have his whole soul inflamed 
by an enterprise of such grandeur. He drew a 
rapid sketch of the resources and hopes of lib- 
erty in the south, and, taking a map, traced the 
limits of the republic, from the Doubs, the Aire, 
and the Ehone, to La Dordogne ; and from the 
inaccessible mountains of Auvergne, to Du- 
rance and the sea. A serene joy passed over 
the features of the three> thus quietly originat- 
ing a plan which was, with an earthquake's 
power, to make every throne in Europe tottle, 
and to convulse Christendom to its very center. 
Barbaroux left them deeply impressed with a 
sense of the grandeur and the perils of the en- 
terprise, and remarked to a friend, " Of all the 
men of modern times, Eoland seems to me most 
to resemble Cato ; but it must be owned that 
it is to his wife that his courage and talents are 
due.'' Previous to this hour the Girondists had 
wished to sustain the throne, and merely to sur- 
round it with free institutions. They had tak- 
en the government of England for their model. 
From this day the Girondists, freed from all 
obligations to the king, conspired secretly in 
Madame Eoland's chamber, and publicly in the 
tribune, for the entire overthrow of the mon- 
archy, and the establishment of a republic like 



THE MINISTRY OF M. EOLAND. 119 

that of the United States. They rivaled the 
Jacobins in the endeavor to see who could strike 
the heaviest blows against the throne. It was 
now a struggle between like and death. The 
triumph of the invading army would be the ut- 
ter destruction of all connected with the revo- 
lutionary movement. And thus did Madame 
Eoland exert an influence more powerful, per- 
haps, than that of any other one mind in the 
demolition of the Bourbon despotism. 

Her influence over the Girondist party was 
such as no man ever can exert. Her conduct, 
frank and open-hearted, was irreproachable, 
ever above even the slightest suspicion of indis- 
cretion. She could not be insensible to the 
homage, the admiration of those she gathered 
around her. Buzot adored Madame Eoland as 
the inspiration of his mind, as the idol of his 
worship. She had involuntarily gained that 
entire ascendency over his whole being which 
made her the world to him. The secret of this 
resistless enchantment was concealed until her 
death ; it was then disclosed, and revealed the 
mystery of a spiritual conflict such as few can 
comprehend. She writes of Buzot, " Sensible, 
ardent, melancholy, he seems born to give and 
share happiness. This man would forget the 
universe in the sweetness of private virtues. 
Capable of sublime impulses and unvarying af- 
fections, the vulgar, who like to depreciate what 



120 MADAME ROLAND. 

it cannot equal, accuse him of being a dreamer. 
Of sweet countenance, elegant figure, there is 
always in his attire that care, neatness, and 
propriety which announce the respect of self 
as well as of others. While the dregs of the na- 
tion elevate the flatterers and corrupters of the 
people to station — while cut-throats swear, 
drink, and clothe themselves in rags, in order 
to fraternize with the populace, Buzot possesses 
the morality of Socrates, and maintains the de- 
corum of Scipio. So they pull down his house, 
and banish him as they did Aristides. I am 
astonished that they hare not issued a decree 
that his name should be forgotten." 

These words Madame Eoland wrote in her 
dungeon the night before her execution. Bu- 
zot was then an exile, j^ursued by unrelenting 
fury, and concealed in the caves of St. Emilion. 
When the tidings reached him of the death of 
Madame Eoland, he fell to the ground as if 
struck by lightning. For many days he was 
in a state of frenzy, and was never again re- 
stored to cheerfulness. 

Danton now appeared in the saloon of Ma- 
dame Roland, with his gigantic stature, and 
shaggy hair, and voice of thunder, and crouched 
at the feet of this mistress of hearts, whom 
his sagacity perceived was soon again to be the 
dispenser of power. She comprehended at a 
glance his lierculemi abilities, an4 th^ impor- 




Madame Roland, 

Danton in the Assembly. {Seep. 132.) 



THE MINISTKY OF M. ROLAND. 121 

tant aid he could render the Eepublican cause. 
She wished to win his co-operation, and at first 
tried to conciliate him, *' as a woman would pat 
a lion ; '' but soon, convinced of his heartless- 
ness and utter want of principle, she spurned 
him with abhorrence. He subsequently en- 
deavored, again and again, to reinstate himself 
in her favor, but in vain. Every hour scenes 
of new violence were being enacted in Paris 
and throughout all France. Roland was the 
idol of the nation. The famous letter was the 
subject of universal admiration. The outcry 
against his dismission was falling in thunder 
tones .on the ear of the king. This act had 
fanned to increased intensity those flames of re- 
volutionary frenzy wbich were now glaring with 
portentous flashes in every part of France. The 
people, intoxicated and maddened by the dis- 
covery of their power, were now arrayed, with 
irresistible thirstings for destruction and blood, 
against the king, the court, and the nobility. 
The royal family, imprisoned in the Tuileries, 
were each day drinking of the cup of humilia- 
tion to its lowest dregs. Austria and Prussia, 
united with the emigrants at Coblentz, prepared 
to march to Paris to reinstate the king upon 
his throne. Excitement; consternation, fren- 
zy, pervaded all hearts. A vast assemblage of 
countless thousands of women, and boys, and 
wan and starving men, gathered in the streets 



122 MADAME KOLAND. 

of Paris. Harangues against the king and the 
aristocrats rendered them delirious with rage. 
They crowded all the avenues to the Tuileries, 
burst through the gates and over the walls, 
dashed down the doors and stove in the win-, 
dows, and, with obscene ribaldry, rioted through 
all the apartments sacred to royalty. They 
thrust the dirty red cap of Jacobinism upon the 
head of the king. They poured into the ear of 
the humiliated queen the most revolting and 
loathsome execrations. There was no hope for 
Louis but in the recall of M. Eoland. The 
eourt party could give no protection. The 
Jacobins were upon him in locust legions. M. 
Eoland alone could bring the Girondists, as a 
shield, between the throne and the mob. He 
was recalled, and agaia moved, in calm tri- 
umph, from his obscure chambers to the regal 
palace of the minister. If Madame Eoland's 
letter dismissed him from office, her letter also 
restored him again with an enormous accumu- 
lation of power. 

His situation was not an enviable one. El- 
evated as it was in dignity and influence, it was 
full of perplexity, toil, and peril. The spirit 
of revolution was now rampant, and no earthly 
power could stay it. It was inevitable that 
those who would not recklessly ride upon its 
billows must be overwhelmed by its resistless 
surges, Madame Eoland was far more con- 



THE MINISTRY OF M. EOLAND. 123 

scious of the peril than her husband. With in- 
tense emotion, but calmly and firmly, she 
looked upon the gathering storm. The pecul- 
iarity of her character,, and her great moral cour- 
age, was illustrated by the mode of life she vig- 
orously adopted. Raised from obscurity to a 
position so commanding-, with rank and wealth 
bowing obsequiously around her, she was en- 
tirely undazzled, and resolved that, consecrat- 
ing all her energies to the demands of the tem- 
pestuous times, she would waste no time in 
fashionable parties and heartless visits. " My 
love of study,^' she said, '* is as great as my de- 
testation of cards, and the society of silly peo- 
ple affords me no amusement.''' Twice a week 
she gave a dinner to the members of the minis- 
try, and other influential men in the political 
world, with whom her husband wished to con- 
verse. The palace was furnished to their hands 
by its former occupants with Oriental luxury. 
Selecting for her own use, as before, one of the 
smallest parlors, she furnished it as her library. 
Here she lived, engrossed in study, busy with 
her pen, and taking an unostentatious and un- 
seen, but most active part, in all those meas- 
ures which were literally agitating the whole 
civilized world. Her little library was the sanc- 
tuary for all confidential conversation upon 
matters of state. Here her husband met his 
political friends to mature their measures. The 



124 MADAME KOLAND. 

gentlemen gathered, evening after evening, 
around the table in the center of the room, M. 
Roland, with his serene, reflective brow, pre- 
siding at their head, while Madame Eoland, at 
her work-table by the fireside, employed herself 
with her needle or her pen. Her mind, how- 
ever, was absorbed by the conversation which 
was passing. M. Roland, in fact, in giving his 
own views, was bat recapitulating those senti- 
ments with which his mind was imbued from 
previous conference with his companion. 

It is not possible that one endowed with the 
ardent and glowing imagination of Madame 
Roland should not, at times, feel inwardly the 
spirit of exultation in the consciousness of this 
vast power. From the windows of her palace 
she looked down upon the shop of the mechan- 
ic where her infancy was cradled, and upon 
those»dusty streets where she had walked an 
obscure child, while proud aristocracy swept by 
her in splendor — that very aristocracy looking 
now imploringly to her for a smile. She pos- 
sessed that peculiar tact, which enabled her 
often to guide the course of political measures 
without appearing to do so. She was only anx- 
ious to promote the glory of her husband, and 
was never more happy than when he was re- 
ceiving plaudits for works which she had per- 
formed. She wrote many of his proclama- 
tions, his letters, his state papers, and with all 



THE MINISTRY 0^ M. ftOLAND. 125 

the glowing fervor of an enthusiastic woiiiau. 
" Without me," she writes, '* my husband would 
have been quite as good a minister, for his 
knowledge, his activity, his integrity were all 
his own ; but with me he attracted more at- 
tention, because I infused into his writings that 
mixture of spirit and gentleness, of authorita- 
tive reason and seducing sentiment, which is, 
perhaps, only to be found in the language of a 
woman who has a clear head and a feeling 
heart/^ This frank avowal of just self -appre- 
ciation is not vanity. A vain woman could not 
have won the love and homage of so many of 
the noblest men of France. 

A curious circumstance occurred at this time, 
which forcibly and even ludicrously struck Ma- 
dame Roland's mind, as she reflected upon the 
wonderful changes of life, and the peculiar posi- 
tion which she now occupied. Some French 
artists had been imprisoned by the Pope at 
Rome. The Executive Council of France 
wished to remonstrate and demand their release. 
Madame Roland sat down to write the letter, 
severe and authoritative, to his holiness, threat- 
ening him with the severest vengeance if he re- 
fused to comply with the request. As in her 
little library she prepared this communication 
to the head of the Papal States and of the Catho- 
lic Church, she paused, with her pen in her 
hand, and reflected upon her situation but a few 



126 MADAME EOLAND. 

years before as the humble daughter of an en- 
graver. She recalled to mind the emotions of 
superstitious awe and adoration with which, in 
the nunnery, she had regarded his holiness as 
next to the Deity, and almost his equal. She 
read oyer some of the imperious passages which 
she had now addressed to the Pope in the unaf- 
fected dignity of conscious power, and the con- 
trast was so striking, and struck her as so lu- 
dicrous, that she burst into an uncontrollable 
paroxysm of laughter. 

When Jane was a diffident maiden of seven- 
teen, she went once with her aunt to the resi- 
dence of a nobleman of exalted rank and vast 
wealth, and had there been invited to dine with 
the servants. The proud spirit of Jane was 
touched to the quick. With a burning brow she 
sat down in the servants' hall, with stewards, 
and butlers, and cooks, and footmen, and valet 
de chambres, and ladies' maids of every degree, 
all dressed in tawdry finery, and assuming the 
most disgusting airs of self-importance. She 
went home despising in her heart both lords and 
menials, and dreaming, with new aspirations, 
of her Eoman republic. One day, when Ma- 
dame Eoland was in power, she had just passed 
from her splendid dining-room , where she had 
been entertaining the most distinguished men 
of the empire, into her drawing-room, when a 
gray-headed gentleman entered, and bowing 



THE MINISTKY OF M. ROLAND. 127 

profoundly and most obsequiously before her, 
entreated the honor of an introduction to the 
Minister of the Interior. This gentleman was 
M. Haudry, with whose servants she had been 
invited to dine. This once proud aristocrat, 
who, in the wreck of the Eevolution, had lost 
both wealth and rank, now saw Madame Roland 
elevated as far above him as he had formerly 
been exalted above her. She remembered the 
many scenes in which her spirit had been hu- 
miliated by haughty assumptions. She could 
not but feel the triumph to which circum- 
stances had borne her, though magnanimity 
restrained its manifestation. 

Anarchy now reigned throughout France. 
The king and the royal family were im- 
prisoned in the Temple. The Girondists in the 
Legislative Assembly, which had now assumed 
the name of the National Convention, and M. 
Roland at the head of the ministry, were strug- 
gling, with herculean exertions, to restore the 
dominion of law, and, if possible, to save the 
life of the king. The Jacobins, who, unable to 
resist the boundless popularity of M. Roland, 
had, for a time, co-operated with the Girondists, 
now began to separate themselves again more 
and more widely from them. They flattered the 
mob. They encouraged every possible demon- 
stration of lawless violence. They pandered to 
the passions of the multitude by affecting gross- 



128 MADAME KOLAND. 

ness and vulgarity in person, and language, and 
manners ; by clamoring for the division of prop- 
erty, and for the death of the king. In tones 
daily increasing in boldness and elB&ciency, they 
declared the Girondists to be the friends of the 
monarch, and the enemies of popular liberty. 
Upon this tumultuous wave of polluted democ- 
racy, now rising with resistless and crested bil- 
low, Danton and Kobespierre were riding into 
their terrific power. Humanity shut its eyes in 
view of the hideous apparition of want and hag- 
gard beggary and crime. The deep mutterings 
of this rising storm, which no earthly hand 
might stay, rolled heavily upon the ear of 
Europe. Christendom looked astounded upon 
the spectacle of a barbarian invasion bursting 
forth from the cellars and garrets of Paris. Op- 
pressed and degraded humanity was about to 
take vengeance for its ages of accumulated 
wrongs. The throne was demolished. The in- 
sulted royal family, in rags and almost in star- 
vation, were in a dungeon. The universal cry 
from the masses of the people was now for a re- 
public. Jacobins and Girondists united in this 
cry ; but the Jacobins accused the Girondists of 
being insincere, and secretly plotting for the res- 
toration of the king. 

Madame Boland, in the name of her husband, 
drew up for the Convention the plan of a re- 
publio as a substitute for th© throae. From 




Madame Roland, 

The Tribunal of Maillard. 



{Seep. 138.) 



THE MINISTRY OF M. ROLAND. 129 

childhood she had yearned for a republic, with 
its liberty and purity, fascinated by the ideal of 
Eoman virtue, from which her lively imagina- 
tion had banished all human corruption. But 
now that the throne and hereditary rank were 
virtually abolished, and all France clamoring 
for a republic, and the pen in her hand to pre- 
sent to the national Assembly a Constitution of 
popular liberty, her heart misgave her. Her 
husband was nominally Minister of the Interior, 
but his power was gone. The mob of Paris had 
usurped the place of king, and Constitution, 
and law. The Jacobins were attaining the de- 
cided ascendency. The guillotine was daily 
crimsoned with the blood of the noblest citizens 
of France. The streets and prisons were polluted 
with the massacre of the innocent. The soul 
of Madame Eoland recoiled with horror at the 
scenes she daily witnessed. The Girondists 
struggled in vain to resist the torrent, but they 
were swept before it. The time had been when 
the proclamation of a republic would have filled 
her soul with inexpressible joy. Now she could 
see no gleam of hope for her country. The res- 
toration of the monarchy was impossible. The 
substitution of a republic was inevitable. No 
earthly power could prevent it. In that re- 
public she saw only the precursor of her own 
ruin, the ruin of all dear to her, and general 
anarchy. With a dejected spirit she wrote to 



130 



MADAME liOLAND. 



a friend, " We are under the knife of Kobes- 
pierre and Marat. Yon know my enthusiasm 
for the Eevolution. I am ashamed of it now. 
It has been sullied by monsters. It is hideous.'^ 




^mmsBiMm 






The Prussians Marching on Paris. 




CHAPTEE VII. 

MADAME KOLAl^D Al^B THE JACOBINS. 

The Prussians were now advancing on their 
march, to Paris. One after another of the 
frontier cities of France were capitulating to 
the invaders as the storm of bomb-shells from 
the batteries of the allied army, was rained down 
upon their roofs. The French were retreating 
before their triumphant adversaries. Sanguine 
hopes sprung up in the bosoms of the friends of 
the monarchy that the artillery of the Prussians 
would soon demolish the iron doors of the Tem- 
ple, where the king and the royal family were 
imprisoned, and reinstate the captive monarch 
upon his throne. The Eevolutionists were al- 
most frantic in view of their peril. They knew 
that there were tens of thousands in Paris, of 
the most wealthy and the most influential, and 
hundreds of thousands in France, who would, 
at the slightest prospect of success, welcome 
the Prussians as their deliverers. Should the 
king thus prove victorious, the leaders in the 
revolutionary movement had sinned too deeply 
to hope for pardon. Death was their inevitable 

10-Eoland 131 



132 MADAME EOLAND. 

doom. Consternation pervaded the metropolis. 
The magnitude of this peril united all the rev- 
olutionary parties for their common defense. 
Even Vergniaud, the most eloqi:.3nt leader of 
the Girondists, proposed a decree of death 
against every citizen of a besieged city who 
should speak of surrender. 

It was midnight in the Assembly. The most 
extraordinary and despotic measures were 
adopted by acclamation to meet the fearful 
emergence. " We must rouse the whole pop- 
ulace of France/' exclaimed Danton, in those 
tones which now began to thrill so portentously 
upon the ear of Europe, '' and hurl them, en 
masse, upon our invaders. There *are traitors 
in Paris, ready to join our foes. "We must ar- 
rest them all, however numerous they may be. 
The peril is imminent. The precautions adopt- 
ed must be correspondingly prompt and deci- 
sive. With the morning sun we must visit 
every dwelling in Paris, and imprison those 
whom we have reason to fear will join the ene- 
mies of the nation, even though they be thirty 
thousand in number. '' 

The decree passed without hesitation. The 
gates of Paris were to be locked, that none might 
escape. Carriages were to be excluded from 
the streets. All citizens were ordered to be at 
home. The sections, the tribunals, the clubs 
were to suspend their sittings, that the public 



MADAME KOLAND AND THE JACOBINS. 133 

attention might not be distracted. All houses 
were to be brilliantly lighted in the evening, 
that the search might be more effectually con- 
ducted. Commissaries, accompanied by armed 
soldiers, were, in the name of the law, to enter 
every dwelling. Each citizen should show what 
arms he had. If anything excited suspicion, 
the individual and his premises were to be 
searched with the utmost vigilance. If the 
slightest deception had been practised, in deny- 
ing or in not fully confessing any suspicious ap- 
pearances, the person was to be arrested and 
imprisoned. If a person were found in any 
dwelling but his own, he was to be imprisoned 
as under suspicion. Guards were to be placed 
in all unoccupied houses. A double cordon of 
soldiers were stationed around the walls, to arrest 
all who should attempt to escape. Armed boats 
floated upon the Seine, at the two extremities 
of Paris, that every possible passage of escape 
might be closed. Gardens, groves, promenades, 
all were to be searched. 

With so much energy was this work con- 
ducted, that that very night a body of workmen 
were sent, with torches and suitable tools, to 
open an access to the subterranean burial- 
grounds extending under a portion of Paris, 
that a speedy disposal might be made of the an- 
ticipated multitude of dead bodies. The decree, 
conveying terror to ten thousand bosoms, spread 



134 MADAME EOLAND. 

with the rapidity of lightning through the 
streets and the dwellings of Paris. Every one 
who had expressed a sentiment of loyalty ; every 
one who had a friend who was an emigrant or 
a loyalist ; every one who had uttered a word of 
censure in reference to the sanguinary atrocities 
of the Kevolution ; every one who inherited an 
illustrious name^ or who had an unfriendly 
neighbor or an inimical servant, trembled at 
the swift approach of the impending doom. 

Bands of men, armed with pikes, brought 
into power from the dregs of society, insolent, 
merciless, and relentless, accompanied by mar- 
tial music, traversed the streets in all direc- 
tions. As the commissaries knocked at a door, 
the family within were pale and paralyzed with 
terror. The brutal inquisitors appeared to de- 
light in the anguish which their stern office ex- 
torted, and the more refined the family in cul- 
ture, or the more elevated in rank, the more 
severely did vulgarity in power trample them in 
the dust of humiliation. They took with them 
workmen acquainted with all possible modes of 
concealment. They broke locks, burst in pan- 
els, cut open beds and mattresses, tore up floors, 
sounded wells, explored garrets and cellars 
for secret doors and vaults, and could they find 
in any house an individual whom affection or 
hospitality had sheltered, a rusty gun, an old 
picture of any member of the royal family, a 



MADAME KOLAND AND THE JACOBIKS. 185 

button with the royal arms, a letter from a 
suspected person, or containing a sentiment 
against the '' Reign of Terror/' the father was 
instantly and rudely torn from his home, his 
wife, his children, and hurried with ignomini- 
ous violence, as a traitor unfit to live, through 
the streets, to the prison. It was a night of 
woe in Paris. 

The friends of the monarchy soon found all 
efforts at concealment unavailing. They had 
at first crept into chimneys, from which they 
were soon smoked out. They had concealed 
themselves behind tapestry. But pikes and 
bayonets were with derision thrust through 
their bodies. They had burrowed in holes in 
the cellars, and endeavored to blind the eye of 
pursuit by coverings of barrels, or lumber, or 
wood, or coal. But the stratagems of affection 
were equally matched by the sagacity of revo- 
lutionary frenzy, and the doomed were dragged 
to light. Many of the Royalists had fled to the 
hospitals, where, in the wards of infection, 
they shared the beds of the dead and the dying. 
But even there they were followed and arrested. 
The domiciliary visits were continued for three 
days. '^ The whole city was like a prisoner, 
whose limbs are held while he is searched and 
fettered." Ten thousand suspected persons 
were seized and committed to the prisons. 
Many were massacred in their dwellings or in 



136 MADAME ROLAND. 

the streets. Some were subsequently liberated, 
as having been unjustly arrested. 

Thirty priests were dragged into a room at 
the Hotel de Ville. Five coaches, each con- 
taining six of the obnoxious prisoners, started 
to convey them to the prison of the Abbaye. 
A countless mob gathered around them as an 
alarm-gun gave the signal for the coaches to 
proceed on their way. The windows were 
open, that the populace might seo those whom 
they deemed traitors to their country, and 
whom they believed to be ready to join the 
army of invasion, now so triumphantly ap- 
proaching. Every moment the mob increased 
in density, and with difficulty the coaches 
wormed their way through the tumultuous 
gatherings. Oaths and execrations rose on 
every side. Gestures and threats of violence 
were fearfully increasing, when a vast multitude 
of men, and women, and boys came roaring 
down a cross-street, and so completely blocked 
up the way that a peaceful passage was impos- 
sible. The carriages stopped. A man with 
his shirt-sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and a 
glittering saber in his hand, forced his way 
through the escort, and, deliberately standing 
upon the steps of one of the coaches, clinging 
with one hand to the door, plunged again, and 
again, and again his saber into the bodies of 
the priests, wherever chance might direct it. 



MADAME ROLAND AND THE JACOBINS. 137 

He drew it out reeking with blood, and waved 
it before the people. A hideous yell of ap- 
plause rose from the multitude, and again he 
plunged his saber into the carriage. The as- 
sassin then passed to the next coach, and again 
enacted the same act of horrid butchery upon 
the struggling priests crowded into the car- 
riages, with no shield and with no escape. Thus 
he went, from one to the other, through the 
whole line of coaches, while the armed escort 
looked on with derisive laughter, and shouts of 
fiendish exultation rose from the frenzied 
multitude. The mounted troops slowly forced 
open a passage for the carriages, and they moved 
along, marking their passage by the streams of 
blood which dripped, from their dead and dying 
inmates, upon the pavements. When they ar- 
rived at the prison, eight dead bodies were 
dragged from the floor of the vehicles, and 
many of those not dead were horridly muti- 
lated and clotted with gore. The wretched 
victims precipitated themselves with the utmost 
consternation into the prison, as a retreat from 
the billows of rage surging and roaring around 
them. 

But the scene within was still more terrible 
than that without. In the spacious hall open- 
ing into the courtyard of the prison there was 
a table, around which sat twelve men. Their 
brawny limbs, and coarse and brutal counte- 



138 MADAME EOLAND. 

nances, proclaimed them familiar with debanch 
and blood. Their attire was that of the lowest 
class in society, with woolen caps on their 
heads, shirt-sleeves rolled np, unembarrassed 
by either vest or coat, and butchers' aprons 
bound around them. At the head of the table 
sat Maillard, at that time the idol of the blood- 
thirsty mob of Paris. These men composed a 
self-constituted tribunal 'to award life or instant 
death to those brought before them. First ap- 
peared one hundred and fifty Swiss officers and 
soldiers who had been in the employ of the 
king. They were brought en masse before the 
tribunal. '' You have assassinated the people,^' 
said Maillard, ''and they demand vengeance." 
The door was open. The assassins in tne court- 
yard, with weapons reeking with blood, were 
howling for their prey. The soldiers were 
driven into the yards, and they fell beneath the 
blows of bayonets, sabers, and clubs, and their 
gory bodies were piled up, a hideous mound, in 
the corners of the court. The priests, without 
delay, met with the same fate. A moment 
sufficed for tria/, and verdict, and execution. 
Night came. Brandy and excitement had 
roused the demon in the human heart. Life 
was a plaything, murder a pastime. Torches 
were lighted, refreshments introduced, songs 
of mirth and joviality rose upon the night air, 
and still the horrid carnage continued unabated. 



MADAME BOLAND AND THfi JACOBINS. 130 

Now and then, from caprice, one was liberated ; 
but the innocent and the guilty fell alike. 
Suspicion was crime. An illustrious name was 
guilt. There was no time for defense. A 
frown from the judge was followed by a blow 
from the assassin. A similar scene was trans- 
piring in all the prisons of Paris. Carts were 
continually arriving to remove the dead bodies, 
which accumulated much faster than they could 
be borne away. The courtyards became wet 
and slippery with blood. Straw was brought 
in and strewn thickly over the stones, and 
benches were placed against the walls to ac- 
commodate those women who wished to gaze 
upon the butchery. The benches were imme- 
diately filled with females, exulting in the 
death of all whom they deemed tainted with 
aristocracy, and rejoicing to see the exalted 
and the refined falling beneath the clubs of the 
ragged and the degraded. The murderers 
made use of the bodies of the dead for seats, 
upon which they drank their brandy mingled 
with gunpowder, and smoked their pipes. In 
the nine prisons of Paris these horrors con- 
tinued unabated till they were emptied of their 
victims. Men most illustrious in philanthropy, 
rank, and virtue, were brained with clubs by 
overgrown boys, who accompanied their blows 
with fiendish laughter. Ladies of the highest 
accomplishments, of exalted beauty and of 



140 MADAME ROLAND. 

spotless purity, were hacked in pieces by the 
lowest wretches who had crawled from the dens 
of pollution, and their dismembered limbs were 
borne on the points of pikes in derision through 
the streets of the metropolis. Children, even, 
were involved in this blind slaughter. They 
were called the cubs of aristocracy. 

We cannot enter more minutely into the 
details of these sickening scenes, for the soul 
turns from them weary of life ; and yet thus 
far we must go, for it is important that all eyes 
should read this dreadful yet instructive lesson 
— that all may hnoiu that there is no despotism 
so dreadful as the despotism of anarchy — that 
there are no laws more to be abhorred than the 
absence of all law. 

In the prison of the Bic^tre there were three 
thousand five hundred captives. The ruffians 
forced the gates, drove in the dungeon doors 
with cannon, and for five days and five nights 
continued the slaughter. The frenzy of the 
intoxicated mob increased each day, and hordes 
came pouring out from all the foul dens of pol- 
lution greedy for carnage. The fevered thirst 
for blood was inextinguishable. No tongue can 
now tell the number of the victims. The man- 
gled bodies were hurried to the catacombs, and 
thrown into an indiscriminate heap of corrup- 
tion. By many it is estimated that more than 
ten thousand fell during these massacres. The 



MADAME EOLAKD AND THE JACOBINS. 141 

tidings of these ontrages spread through all the 
provinces of France, and stimnlated to similar 
atrocities the mob in every city. At Orleans 
the houses of merchants were sacked, the mer- 
chants and others of wealth or high standing 
massacred, while some who had offered resist- 
ance were burned at slow fires. 

In one town, in the vicinity of the Prussian 
army, some Loyalist gentlemen, sanguine in 
view of the success of their friends, got up an 
entertainment in honor of their victories. At 
this entertainment their daughters danced. 
The young ladies were all arrested, fourteen in 
number, and taken in a cart to the guillotine. 
These young and beautiful girls, all between 
the ages of fourteen and eighteen, and from the 
most refined and opulent families, were behead- 
ed. The group of youth and innocence stood 
clustered at the foot of the scaffold, while, one by 
one, their companions ascended, were bound to 
the plank, the ax fell, and their heads dropped 
into the basket. It seems that there must 
have been some supernatural power of support 
to have sustained children under so awful an 
ordeal. There were no fain tings, no loud lam- 
entations, no shrieks of despair. With the se- 
renity of martyrs they met their fate, each one 
emulous of showing to her companions how 
much like a heroine she could die. 

These scenes were enacted at the instigation 



142 MADAME BOLAND. 

of the Jacobins. Danton and Marat urged on 
these merciless measures of lawless violence. 
"We must/' said they, "strike terror into the 
hearts of our foes. It is our only safety.-*' 
They sent agents into the most degraded quar- 
ters of the city to rouse and direct the mob. 
They voted abundant supplies to the wretched 
assassins who had broken into the prisons, and 
involved youth and age, and innocence and 
guilt, in indiscriminate carnage. The murder- 
ers, reeking in intoxication and besmeared with 
blood, came in crowds to the door of the mu- 
nicipality to claim their reward. ^^ Do you 
think,^' said a brawny, gigantic wretch, with 
tucked-up sleeves, in the garbof a butcher, and 
with his whole person bespattered with blood 
and brains, " do you think that I have earned 
but twenty-four francs to-day ? I have killed 
forty aristocrats with my own hands ! " The 
money was soon exhausted, and still the crowd 
of assassins thronged the committee. Indig- 
nant that their claims were not instantly dis- 
charged, they presented their bloody weapons at 
the throats of their instigators, and threatened 
them with immediate death if the money were 
not furnished. Thus urged, the committee suc- 
ceeded in paying one half the sum, and gave 
bonds for the rest. 

M. Eoland was almost frantic in view of these 
horrors, which he had no power to quell. The 



MADAME ROLAND AND THE JACOBINS. 143 

mob, headed by the Jacobins, had now the com- 
plete ascendency, and he was minister but in 
name. He urged upon the Assembly the adop- 
tion of immediate and energetic measures to ar- 
rest these execrable deeds of lawless violence. 
Many of the Girondists in the Assembly gave 
vehement but unavailing utterance to their ex- 
ecration of the massacres. Others were intim- 
idated by the weapon which the Jacobins were 
now so effectually wielding ; for they knew that 
it might not be very difficult so to direct the 
fury of the mob as to turn those sharp blades, 
now dripping with blood, from the prisons into 
the hall of Assembly, and upon the throats of 
all obnoxious to Jacobin power. The Girond- 
ists trembled in view of their danger. They 
had aided in opening the sluice-ways of a tor- 
rent which was now sweeping everything be- 
fore it. Madame Koland distinctly saw and 
deeply felt the peril to which she and her friends 
were exposed. She knew, and they all knew, 
that defeat was death. The great struggle now 
in the Assembly was for the popular voice. 
The Girondists hoped, though almost in de- 
spair, that it was not yet too late to show the 
people the horrors of anarchy, and to rally 
around themselves the multitude to sustain a 
well-established and law-revering republic. 
The Jacobins determined to send their oppo- 
nents to the scaffold, and by the aid of the 



144 MADAME KOLAND. 

terrors of the mob, now enlisted on their side, 
resistlessly to carry all their measures. A hint 
from the Jacobin leaders surrounded the As- 
sembly with the hideous bowlings of a haggard 
concourse of beings, just as merciless and de- 
moniac as lost spirits. They exhibited these 
allies to the Girondists as a bull-dog shows his 
teeth. 

In speeches, and placards, and proclamations 
they declared the Girondists to be, in heart, the 
enemies of the Eepublic. They accused them 
of hating the Eevolution in consequence of its 
necessary severity, and of plotting in secret for 
the restoration of the king. With great adroit- 
ness, they introduced measures which the Gi- 
rondists must either support, and thus aid the 
Jacobins, or oppose, and increase the suspicion 
of the populace, and rouse their rage against 
them. The allied army, with seven thousand 
French emigrants and over a hundred thousand 
highly-disciplined troops, under the most able 
and experienced generals, was slowly but surely 
advancing toward Paris, to release the king, 
replace him on the throne, and avenge the in- 
sults to royalty. The booming of their artil- 
lery was heard reverberating among the hills 
of France, ever drawingnearer and nearer to 
the insurgent metropolis, and sending conster- 
nation into all hearts. Under these circum- 
stances, the Jacobins, having massacred those 



MADAME EOLAND AND THE JACOBINS. 145 

deemed the friends of the aristocrats, now gath- 
ered their strength to sweep before them all their 
adversaries. They passed a decree ordering 
every man in Paris, capable of bearing arms, 
to shoulder his musket and march to the fron- 
tiers to meet the invaders. If money was wanted, 
it was only necessary to send to the guillotine 
the aristocrat who possessed it, and to confiscate 
his estate. 

Eobespierre and Danton had now broken off 
all intimacy with Madame Eoland and her 
friends. They no longer appeared in the little 
library where the Girondist leaders so often 
met, but, placing themselves at the head of the 
unorganized and tumultuous party now so rap- 
idly gaining the ascendency, they were swept 
before it as the crest is borne by the billow. 
Madame Eoland urged most strenuously upon 
her friends that those persons in the Assembly, 
the leaders of the Jacobin party, who had insti- 
gated the massacres in the prisons, should be 
accused, and brought to trial and punishment. 
It required peculiar boldness, at that hour, 
to accuse Eobespierre and Danton of crime. 
Though thousands in France were horror- 
stricken at these outrages, the mob, who now 
ruled Paris, would rally instantaneously at the 
sound of the tocsin for the protection of their 
idols. 

Madame Eoland was one evening urging 



146 MAr> AMy. ROLAND. 

Vergniaud to take that heroic and desperate 
stand. ^^ The only hope for France/' said she, 
'* is in the sacredness of law. This atrocious 
carnage causes thousands of bosoms to thrill 
with horror, and all the wise and the good in 
France and in the world will rise to sustain 
those who expose their own hearts as a barrier 
to arrest such enormities." 

" Of what avail/' was the reply, in tones of 
sadness, *^ can such exertions be ? The assas- 
sins are supported by all the power of the street. 
Such a conflict must necessarily terminate in a 
street fight. The cannon are with onr foes. 
The most prominent of the friends of order are 
massacred. Terror will restrain the rest. We 
shall only provoke our own destruction."" 

" Of what use is life," rejoins the intrepid 
woman, "if we must live in this base subjec- 
tion to a degraded mob ? Let us contend for 
the right, and if we must die, let us rejoice to 
die with dignity and with heroism." 

Though despairing of success, and apprehen- 
sive that their own doom was already sealed, 
M. Eoland and Vergniaud, roused to action by 
this ruling spirit, the next day made their ap- 
pearance in the Assembly with the heroic re- 
solve to throw themselves before the torrent 
now rushing so wildly. They stood there, how- 
ever, but the representatives of Madame Ro- 
land, inspired by her energies, and giving utter- 



MADAME EOLAND AND THE JACOBINS. 147 

ance to those eloquent sentiments which had 
burst from her lips. 

The Assembly listened in silence as M. Eo- 
land, in an energetic discourse, proclaimed the 
true principles of law and order, and called upon 
the Assembly to defend its own dignity against 
popular violence, and to raise an armed force 
consecrated to the security of liberty and jus- 
tice. Encouraged by these appearances of re- 
turning moderation, others of the Girondists 
rose, and, with great boldness and yehemence, 
urged decisive action. " It requires some cour- 
age,^' said Kersaint, '^ to rise up here against as- 
sassins, but it is time to erect scaffolds for those 
who provoke assassination.-'^ The strife con- 
tinued for two or three days, with that intense 
excitement which a conflict for life or death 
must necessarily engender. The question be- 
tween the Girondist and the Jacobin was, '* Who 
shall lie down on the guillotine ? '' For some 
time the issue of the struggle was uncertain. 
The Jacobins summoned their allies, the mob. 
They surrounded the doors and the windows of 
the Assembly, and with their bowlings sustained 
their friends. " I have just passed through the 
crowd," said a member, " and have witnessed 
its excitement. If the act of accusation is car- 
ried, many a head will lie low before another 
morning dawns/^ The Girondists found them- 
selves, at the close of the struggle, defeated, yet 

11— Roland 



148 MADAME EOLAND. 

not SO decidedly but that they still clung to 
hope. 

M. Roland, who had not yet entirely lost, 
with the people, that popularity which swept 
him, on so triumphant a billow, again into the 
office of Minister of the Interior, now, conscious 
of his utter impotency, presented to the As- 
sembly his resignation of power which was 
merely nominal. Great efforts had for some 
time been made, by his adversaries, to turn the 
tide of popular hatred against him, and espe- 
cially against his wife, whom Danton and Eobes- 
pierre recognized and proclaimed as the animat- 
ing and inspiring soul of the Girondist party. 

The friends of Roland urged, with high enco- 
miums upon his character, that he should be 
invited to retain his post. The sentiment of 
the Assembly was wavering in his favor. Dan- 
ton, excessively annoyed, arose and said, with a 
sneer, ^' I oppose the invitation. Nobody ap- 
preciates M. Roland more justly than myself. 
But if you give him this invitation, you must 
give his wife one also. Every one knows that 
M. Roland is not alone in his department. As 
for myself, in my department I am alone. I 
have no wife to help me." 

These indecorous and malicious allusions 
were received with shouts of derisive laughter 
from the Jacobin benches. The majority, how- 
ever, frowned upon Danton with deep reproaches 



MADAME KOLAND AND THE JACOBINS. 149 

for such an attack upon a lady. One of the 
Girondists immediately ascended the tribune. 
'' What signifies it to the country/' said he, 
^' whether Roland possesses an intelligent wife, 
who inspires him with her additional energy, or 
whether he acts from his own resolution alone ? " 
The defense was received with much applause. 

The next day, Roland, as Minister of the In- 
terior, presented a letter to the Convention, ex- 
pressing his determination to continue in office. 
It was written by Madame Roland in strains 
of most glowing eloquence, and in the spirit of 
the loftiest heroism and the most dignified de- 
fiance. '' The Convention is wise," said this 
letter, '^in not giving a solemn invitation to a 
man to remain in the ministry. It would at- 
tach too great importance to a name. But the 
deliberation honors me, and clearly pronounces 
the desire of the Convention. That wish sat- 
isfies me. It opens to me the career. I es- 
pouse it with courage. I remain in the minis- 
try. I remain because there are perils to face. 
I am not blind to them, but I brave them fear- 
lessly. The salvation of my country is the ob- 
ject in view. To that I devote myself, even to 
death. I am accused of wanting courage. Is 
no courage requisite in these times in denounc- 
ing the protectors of assassins ? " 

Thus Madame Roland, sheltered in the 
seclusion of her library, met, in spirit, in the 



150 MADAMU EOLANl:>. 

fierce struggle of the tribune, Robespierre, Dan- 
ton, and Marat. They knew from whose shafts 
these keen arrows were shot. The G-irondists 
knew to whom they were indebted for many of 
the most skilful parries and retaliatory blows. 
The one party looked to her almost with ado- 
ration ; the other, with implacable hate. Never 
before, probably, in the history of the world, 
has a woman occupied such a position, and never 
by a woman will such a position be occupied 
again. Danton began to recoil froni the gulf 
opening before him, and wished to return to al- 
liance with the Girondists. He expressed the 
most profound admiration for the talents, en- 
ergy, and sagacity of Madame Roland. '' We 
must act together," said he, ^' or the wave of 
the Revolution will overwhelm us all. United, 
we can stem it. Disunited, it will overpower 
us." Again he appeared in the library of Ma- 
dame Roland, in a last interview with the Gi- 
rondists. He desired a coalition. They could 
not agree. Danton insisted that they must 
overlook the massacres, and give at least an 
implied assent to their necessity. '^ We will 
agree to all," said the G-irondists, '' except im- 
punity to murderers and their accomplices." 
The conference was broken up. Danton, irri- 
tated, withdrew, and placed himself by the side 
of Robespierre. Again the Jacobins and the 
Girondists prepared for the renewal of their 



MADAME ROLAND AND THE JACOBINS. 151 

struggle. It was not a struggle for power 
merely, but for life. The Girondists, knowing 
that the fury of the Kevolution would soon 
sweep over everything, unless they could bring 
back the people to a sense of justice — would 
punish with the scaffold those who had incited 
the massacre of thousands of uncondemned cit- 




Convent of the Jacobins. 

izens. The Jacobins would rid themselves of 
their adversaries by overwhelming them in the 
same carnage to which they had consigned the 
Loyalists. Madame Eoland might have fled 
from these perils, and have retired with her 
husband to regions of tranquillity and of safety ; 
but she urged M. Eoland to remain at his post, 
and resolved to remain herself and meet her 
destiny, wjiatoyer it might be. 




CHAPTER VIII. 

LAST STRUGGLES OF THE GIRONDISTS. 

The Jacobins now resolved to bring the king 
to trial. By placards posted in the streets, by 
inflammatory speeches in the Convention, in 
public gatherings, and in the clubs, by false 
assertions and slanders of every conceivable nat- 
ure, they had roused the ignorant populace to 
the full conviction that the king was the au- 
thor of every calamity now impending. The 
storm of the Eevolution had swept desolation 
through all the walks of peaceful industry. 
Starvation, gaunt and terrible, began to stare 
the population of Paris directly in the face. 
The infuriated mob hung the bakers upon the 
lamp-posts before their own doors for refusing 
to supply them with bread. The peasant dared 
not to carry provisions into the city, for he was 
sure of being robbed by the sovereign people, 
who had attained the freedom of committing 
all crimes with impunity. The multitude fully 
believed that there was a conspiracy formed by 
the king in his prison, and by the friends of 
royalty, to starve the people into siibjection. 
152 ~ ' 



LAST STRUGGLES OF THE GIRONDISTS. 153 

Portentous murmnrs were now also borne on 
every breeze, uttered by a thousand unseen 
voices, that the Girondists were accomplices in 
this conspiracy ; that they hated the Revolution ; 
that they wished to save the life of the king ; 
that they would welcome the army of invasion, 
as affording them an opportunity to reinstate 
Louis upon the throne. The Jacobins, it was 
declared, were the only true friends of the 
people. The Girondists were accused of being 
in league with the aristocrats. These suspicions 
rose and floated over Paris like the mist of the 
ocean. They were everywhere encountered, 
and yet presented 'no resistance to be assailed. 
They were intimated in the Jacobin journals ; 
they were suggested, with daily increasing dis- 
tinctness, at the tribune. And in those multi- 
tudinous gatherings, where Marat stood in 
filth and rags to harangue the miserable, and 
the vicious, and the starving, they were pro- 
claimed loudly, and with execrations. The 
Jacobins rejoiced that they had now, by the 
force of circumstances, crowded their adversa- 
ries into a position from which they could not 
easily extricate themselves. Should the Giron- 
dists vote for the death of the king, they would 
thus support the Jacobins in those sanguinary 
measures, so popular with the mob, which had 
now become the right arm of Jacobin power. 
The glory would also all redound to the Jaco- 



154 MADAME ROLAND. 

bins for it would not be difficult to convince the 
multitude that the Girondists merely submit- 
ted to a measure which they were unable to re- 
sist. Should the Girondists, on the other hand, 
true to their instinctive abhorrence of these 
deeds of blood, dare to vote against the death 
of the king, they would be ruined irretrievably. 
They would then stand unmasked before the 
people as traitors to the Eepublic and the friends 
of royalty. Like noxious beasts, they would 
be hunted through the streets and massacred 
at their own firesides. The Girondists per- 
ceived distinctly the vortex of destruction to- 
ward which they were so rapidly circling. 
Many and anxious were their deliberations, 
night after night, in the library of Madame 
Roland. In the midst of the fearful peril, it 
was not easy to decide what either duty or ap- 
parent policy required. 

The Jacobins now made a direct and infa- 
mous attempt to turn the rage of the populace 
against Madame Roland. Achille Viard, one 
of those unprincipled adventurers with which 
the stormy times had filled the metropolis, was 
employed, as a spy, to feign attachment to the 
Girondist party, and to seek the acquaintance, 
and insinuate himself into the confidence of 
Madame Roland. By perversions and exaggera- 
tions of her language, he was to fabricate an 
accusation against her which would bring her 



LAST STRUGGLES OF THE GIRONDISTS. 155 

head to the scaffold. Madame Eoland instant- 
ly penetrated his character, and he was repulsed 
from her presence by the most contemptuous 
neglect. He, however, appeared before the As- 
sembly as her accuser, and charged her with 
carrying on a secret correspondence with per- 
sons of influence at home and abroad, to protect 
the king. She was summoned to present her- 
self before the Convention, to confront her ac- 
cuser, and defend herself from the scaffold. 
Her gentle yet imperial spirit was undaunted 
by the magnitude of the peril. Her name had 
often been mentioned in the Assembly as the 
inspiring genius of the most influential and elo- 
quent party which had risen up amid the storms 
of the Eevolution. Her talents, her accomplish- 
ments, her fascinating conversational eloquence, 
had spread her renown widely through Europe. 
A large number of the most illustrious men in 
that legislative hall, both ardent young men 
and those venerable with age, regarded her 
with the most profound admiration — almost 
with religious homage. Others, conscious of 
her power, and often foiled by her sagacity, 
hated her with implacable hatred, and deter- 
mined, either by the ax of the guillotine or by 
the poniard of the assassin, to remove her from 
their way. 

The aspect of a young and beautiful woman, 
combining in her person and mind all the at- 



156 MADAME EOLAND. 

tractions of nature and genius, with her cheek 
glowing with heroic resolution, and her demean- 
or exhibiting the most perfect feminine loveli- 
ness and modesty, entering this vast assembly 
of irritated men to speak in defense of her life^ 
at once hushed the clamor of hoarse voices, and 
subdued the rage of angry disputants. Silence 
the most respectful instantly filled the hall. 
Every eye was fixed upon her. The hearts of 
her friends throbbed with sympathy and with 
love. Her enemies were more than half dis- 
armed, and wished that they, also, were hon- 
ored as her friends. She stood before the bar. 

** What is your name ?^' inquired the pres- 
ident. 

She paused for a moment, and then, fixing 
her eye calmly upon her interrogator, in those 
clear and liquid tones which left their vibration 
upon the ear long after her voice was hushed in 
death, answered, 

" Eoland ! a name of which I am proud, for 
it is that of a good and an honorable man.^' 

" Do you know Achille Viard ? " the presi- 
dent inquired. 

'^ I have once, and but once, seen him.'' 

" What has passed between you ? " 

" Twice he has written to me, soliciting an 
interview. Once I saw him. After a short con- 
versation, I perceived that he was a spy, and 
dismissed him with the contempt he deserved. ^^ 



LAST STRUGGLES OF THE GIRONDISTS. 157 

The calm dignity of her replies, the ingenu- 
ous frankness of her manners, and the mani- 
fest malice and falsehood of Viard's accusation, 
made even her enemies ashamed of their un- 
chivalrous prosecution. Briefly, in tremulous 
tones of voice, but with a spirit of firmness 
which no terrors could daunt, she entered upon 
her defense. It was the first time that a female 
voice had been heard in the midst of the clamor 
of these enraged combatants. The Assembly, 
unused to such a scene, were fascinated by 
her attractive eloquence. Viard, convicted of 
meanness, and treachery, and falsehood, dared 
not open his lips. Madame Eoland was ac- 
quitted by acclamation. Upon the spot the 
president proposed that the marked respect of 
the Convention be conferred upon Madame 
Roland. With enthusiasm the resolution was 
carried. As she retired from the hall, her 
bosom glowing with the excitement of the per- 
fect triumph she had won, her ear was greeted 
with the enthusiastic applause of the whole 
assembly. The eyes of all France had been 
attracted to her as she thus defended herself 
and her friends, and confounded her enemies. 
Marat gnashed his teeth with rage. Danton 
was gloomy and silent. Eobespierre, van- 
quished by charms which had so often before 
enthralled him, expressed his contempt for the 
conspiracy, and, for the last time, smiled upon 



168 MADAME ROLAND. 

his early friend, whom he soon, with the most 
stoical indifference, dragged to the scaffold. 

The evening after the overthrow of the mon- 
archy and the establishment of the Eepublic, 
when there was still some faint hope that there 
might yet be found intelligence and virtue in 
the people to sustain the Constitution, the Gi- 
rondists met at Madame Eoland% and cele- 
brated, with trembling exultation, the birth of 
popular liberty. The constitution of the United 
States was the heau ideal of the Girondists, 
and, vainly dreaming that the institutions which 
Washington and his compatriots had established 
in Christian America were now firmly planted 
in infidel France, they endeavored to cast the 
veil of oblivion over the past, and to spread 
over the future the illusions of hope. The men 
here assembled were the most illustrious of the 
nation. Noble sentiments passed from mind to 
mind. Madame Koland, pale with emotion, 
conscious of the perils which were so porten- 
tously rising around them, shone with a preter- 
natural brilliance in the solemn rejoicing of that 
evening. The aged Koland gazed with tears 
of fond affection and of gratified pride upon his 
lovely wife, as if in spirit asking her if all the 
loftiest aspirations of their souls were not now 
answered. The victorious Eepublicans hardly 
knew whether to sing triumphant songs or 
funeral dirges. Vergniaud, the renowned ora- 



LAST STRUGGIiES OF THE GIRONDISTS. 159 

tor of the party, was prominent above them 
all. With a pale cheek, and a serene and pen- 
sive smile, he sat in silence, his mind evidently- 
wandering among the rising apparitions of the 
future. At the close of the supper he filled 
his glass, and rising, proposed to drink to the 
eternity of the Republic. Madame Roland, 
whose mind was ever filled with classic recol- 
lections, scattered from a bouquet which she 
held in her hand, some rose leaves on the wine 
in his glass. Vergniaud drank the wine, and 
then said, in a low voice, ''We should quaff 
cypress leaves, not rose leaves, in our wine to- 
night. In drinking to a republic, stained, at 
its birth, with the blood of massacre, who 
knows but that we drink to our own death. 
But no matter. Were this wine my own blood, 
I would drain it to liberty and equality. '^ All 
the guests, with enthusiasm, responded, '' Vive 
la RepuUique ! " After dinner, Roland read to 
the company a paper drawn up by himself and 
wife in reference to the state of the Republic, 
which views were to be presented the next day 
at the Convention. 

The royal family were still in the dungeons 
of the Temple, lingering through the dreary 
hours of the most desolate imprisonment. 
Frenzied mobs, rioting through the streets 
of Paris, and overawing all law, demanded, with 
loudest execrations, the death of the king. A 



160 MADAME ROLAND. 

man having ventured to say that he thought 
that the Eepublic might be established without 
shedding the blood of Louis, was immediately 
stabbed to the heart, and his mutilated remains 
were dragged through the streets of Paris in 
fiendish revelry. A poor vender of pamphlets 
and newspapers, coming out of a reading-room, 
was accused of selling books favorable to 
royalty. The suspicion was crime, and he fell, 
pierced by thirty daggers. Such warnings as 
these were significant and impressive, and few 
dared utter a word in favor of the king. 

It was the month of January, 1793, when 
the imprisoned monarch was brought into the 
hall of the Convention for his trial. It was a 
gloomy day for France, and all external nature 
seemed shrouded in darkness and sorrow. 
Clouds of mist were sweeping through the chill 
air, and a few feeble lamps glimmered along 
the narrow avenues and gloomy passages, 
which were darkened by the approach of a 
winter's night. Armed soldiers surrounded the 
building. Heavy pieces of artillery faced every 
approach. Cannoneers, ^h. lighted matches, 
stood at their side, ready to scatter a storm of 
grape-shot upon every toe? A mob of count- 
less thousands were surging to and fro through 
all the neighboring streets. The deep, dull 
murmurings of the multifcde swelled in uni- 
son with the sighings of the storm rising upon 



LAST STRUGGLES OF THE GIRONDISTS. 161 

the somber night. It was with no little difficulty 
that the deputies could force their way through 
the ocean of human beings surrounding the 
Assembly. The coarse garb, the angry features, 
the harsh voices, the fierce and significant 
gestures, proclaimed too clearly that the mob 
had determined to have the life of the king, 
and that, unless the deputies should vote his 
death, both king and deputies should perish 
together. As each deputy threaded his way 
through the thronging masses, he heard, in 
threatening tones, muttered into his ear deep 
and emphatic, * ' His death or thine I " 

Persons who were familiar with the faces of 
all the members were stationed at particular 
points, and called out aloud to the multitude 
the names of the deputies as they elbowed 
their way through the surging multitudes. 
At the names of Danton, Marat, Robespierre, 
the ranks opened to make way for these idols 
of the populace, and shouts of the most enthu- 
siastic greeting fell upon their ears. When the 
names of Yergniaud, Brissot, and others of the 
leading Girondists were mentioned, clinched 
fists, brandished daggers, and angry menaces 
declared that those who refused to obey the 
wishes of the people should encounter dire 
revenge. The very sentinels placed to guard 
the deputies encouraged the mob to insult and 
violence. The lobbies were filled with the 

12— Roland 



162 MADAME ROLAND. 

most sanguinary ruffians of Paris. The in- 
terior of the hall was dimly lighted. A chan- 
delier, suspended from the center of the ceiling, 
illuminated certain portions of the room, while 
the more distant parts remained in deep obscu- 
rity. That all might act under the full sense 
of their responsibility to the mob, Robespierre 
had proposed and carried the vote that the 
silent form of ballot .should be rejected, and that 
each deputy, in his turn, should ascend the 
tribune, and, with a distinct voice, announce 
his sentence. For some time after the voting 
commenced it was quite uncertain how the de- 
cision would turn. In the alternate record of 
the vote, death and exile appeared to be equally 
balanced. All now depended upon the course 
which the Girondists should pursue. If they 
should vote for death, the doom of the king 
was sealed. Vergniaud was the first of that 
party to be called to record his sentence. It 
was well known that he looked with repugnance 
and horror upon the sanguinary scenes with 
which the Revolution had been deformed, and 
that he had often avowed his sympathy for the 
hard fate of a prince whose greatest crime was 
weakness. His vote would unquestionably be 
the index of that of the whole party, and thus 
the life or death of the king appeared to be 
suspended from his lips. It was known that 
the very evening before, while supping with a 



LAST STRUGGLES OF THE GIRONDISTS. 163 

lady who expressed much commiseration for 
the captives iu the Temple, he had declared 
that he would save the life of the king. The 
courage of Vergniaud was above suspicion, and 
his integrity above reproach. Difficult as it was 
to judge impartially, with the cannon and the 
pikes of the mob leveled at his breast, it was not 
doubted that he would vote conscientiously. 

As the name of Vergniaud was called, all 
conversation instantly ceased. Perfect silence 
pervaded the hall, and every eye was riveted 
upon him. Slowly he ascended the steps of the 
tribune. His brow was calm, but his mouth 
closely compressed, as if to sustain some firm 
resolve. He paused for a molnent, and the 
Assembly was breathless with suspense. He 
contracted his eyebrows, as if again reflecting 
upon his decision, and then, in a low, solemn, 
firm voice, uttered the word ^' Death." 

The most profound silence reigned for a 
moment, and then again the low murmur of 
suppressed conversation filled the hall. Ver- 
gniaud descended from the tribune and disap- 
peared in the crowd. All hope for the king was 
now gone. The rest of the Girondists also 
voted for death, and Louis was condemned to 
the scaffold. 

This united vote upon the death of the king 
for a short time mingled together again the 
Girondists and the Jacobins. But the dom- 



164 MADAME BOLAND. 

inant party, elated by the yictory whicli they 
had gained over their adversaries, were en- 
couraged to fresh extortions. Perils increased. 
Europe was rising in arms against the blood- 
stained Eepublic. The execution of the king 
aroused emotions of unconquerable detestation 
in the bosoms of thousands who had previouslj' 
looked upon the Eevolution with favor. Thos^ 
who had any opulence to forfeit, or any posi- 
tion in society to maintain, were ready to wel 
come as deliverers the allied army of invasion, 
It was then, to meet this emergency, that tha^ 
terrible Eevolutionary Tribunal was organized, 
which raised the ax of the guillotine as the one 
all-potent instrument of government, and which 
shed such oceans of innocent blood. '^Two 
hundred and sixty thousand heads,^' said Marat, 
''must fall before France will be safe from 
internal foes." Danton, Marat, and Robes- 
pierre were now in the ascendency, riding with 
resistless power upon the billows of mob vio- 
lence. Whenever they wished to carry any 
measure, they sent forth their agents to the 
dens and lurking-places of degradation and 
crime, and surrounded and filled the hall of the 
Assembly with bloodthirsty assassins. ''Those 
who call themselves respectable," said Marat, 
"wish to give laws to those whom they call the 
rablle. We will teach them that the time is 
come in which the rahhle is to reign. •*' 



LAST STBUGGLES OF THE GLKONDISTS. 165 

This Eevolutionary Tribunal, consisting of 
five judges, a jury, and a public accuser, all ap- 
pointed by the Convention, was proposed and 
decreed on the same evening. It possessed un- 
limited powers to confiscate property and take 
life. The Girondists dared not vote against 
this tribunal. The public voice would pro- 
nounce them the worst of traitors. France was 
now a charnel-house. Blood flowed in streams 
which were never dry. Innocence had no pro- 
tection. Virtue was suspicion, suspicion a 
crime, the guillotine the penalty, and the con- 
fiscated estate the bribe to accusation. Thus 
there was erected, in the name of liberty and 
popular rights, over the ruins of the French 
monarchy, a system of despotism the most atro- 
cious and merciless under which humanity has 
ever groaned. 

Again and again had the Jacobins called the 
mob into the Assembly, and compelled the 
members to vote with the poniards of assassins 
at their breasts. Madame Eoland now despaired 
of liberty. Calumny, instead of gratitude, was 
unsparingly heaped upon herself and her hus- 
band. This requital, so unexpected, was more 
dreadful to her than the scaffold. All the prom- 
ised fruits of the Eevolution had disappeared, 
and desolation and crime alone were realized. 
The Girondists still met in Madame Eoland's 
library to deliberate concerning measures tox 



166 MADAME KOLAND. 

averting the impending ruin. All was unavail- 
ing. 

The most distressing embarrassments now 
surrounded M. Eoland. He could not abandon 
power without abandoning himself and his sup- 
porters in the Assembly to the guillotine ; and 
while continuing in power, he was compelled to 
witness deeds of atrocity from which not only 
his soul revolted, but to which it was necessary 
for him apparently to give his sanction. His 
cheek grew pale and wan with care. He could 
neither eat nor sleep. The Kepublic had proved 
an utter failure, and France was but a tem- 
pest-tossed ocean of anarchy. 

Thus situated, M. Eoland, with the most 
melancholy forebodings, sent in his final resig- 
nation. He retired to humble lodgings in one 
of the obscure streets of Paris. Here, anxiously 
watching the progress of events, he began to 
make preparations to leave the mob-enthralled 
metropolis, and seek a retreat, in the calm se- 
clusion of La Platiere, from these storms which 
no human power could allay. Still, the influ- 
ence of Roland and his wife was feared by those 
who were directing the terrible enginery of law- 
less violence. It- was well known by them both 
that assassins had been employed to silence 
them with the poniard. Madame Eoland 
seemed, however, perfectly insensible to per- 
sonal fear. She thought only of her husband 



LAST STRUGGLES OF THE GIRONDISTS. 167 

and her child. Desperate men were seen lurk- 
ing about the house, and their friends urged 
them to remove as speedily as possible from the 
perils by which they were surrounded. Neither 
the sacredness of law nor the weapons of their 
friends could longer afford them any protection. 
The danger became so imminent that the 
friends of Madame Roland brought her the 
dress of a peasant girl, and entreated her to put 
it on, as a disguise, and escape by night, that 
her husband might follow after her, unencum- 
bered by his family ; but she proudly repelled 
that which she deemed a cowardly artifice. 
She threw the dress aside, exclaiming, '* I am 
ashamed to resort to any such expedient. I 
will neither disguise myself, nor make any 
attempt at secret escape. My enemies may 
find me always in my place. If I am assassin- 
ated, it shall be in my own home. I owe my 
country an example of firmness, and I will give 
it." 

She, however, was so fully aware of her peril, 
and each night was burdened with such atroc- 
ities, that she placed loaded pistols under her 
pillow, to defend herself from those outrages, 
worse than death, of which the Revolution af- 
forded so many examples. While the influence 
of the Girondists was entirely overborne by the 
clamors of the mob in Paris, in the more virtu- 
ous rural districts, far removed from the cor- 



168 MADAME KOLAND. 

ruption of the capital, their influence was on 
the increase. The name of M. Koland, uttered 
with execrations in the metropolis by the vag- 
abonds swarming from all parts of Europe, was 
spoken in tones of veneration in the depart- 
ments, where husbandmen tilled the soil, and 
loved the reign of law and peace. Hence the 
Jacobins had serious cause to fear a reaction 
and determined to silence their voices by the 
slide of the guillotine. The most desperate 
measures were now adopted for the destruction 
of the Girondists. One conspiracy was formed 
to collect the mob, ever ready to obey a signal 
from Marat, around the Assembly, to incite 
them to burst in at the doors and the windows, 
and fill the hall with confusion, while picked 
men were to poniard the Girondists in their 
seats. The conspiracy was detected and ex- 
posed but a few hours before its appointed ex- 
ecution. The Jacobin leaders, protected by 
their savage allies, were raised above the power 
of law, and set all punishment at defiance. 

A night was again designated, in which bands 
of armed men were to surround the dwelling 
of each Girondist, and assassinate these foes of 
Jacobin domination in their beds. This plot 
also was revealed to the Girondists but a few 
hours before its destined catastrophe, and it was 
with the utmost difficulty that the doomed vic- 
tims obtained extrication from the toils which 




Madame Roland, yj.;,, ^ 

Church of St. Jacques de la Boucherie, where the 
National Assembly occasionally met. 



LAST STRUGGLES OP THE GIRONDISTS. 169 

had been wound around them. Disastrous 
news was now daily arriving from the frontiers. 
The most alarming tidings came of insurrec- 
tions in La Vendee, and other important por- 
tions of France, in favor of the restoration of 
the monarchy. These gathering perils threw 
terror into the hearts of the Jacobins, and 
roused them to deeds of desperation. Though 
Madame Koland was now in comparative ob- 
scurity, night after night the most illustrious 
men of France, battling for liberty and for life 
in the Convention, ascended the dark staircase 
to her secluded room, hidden in the depth of a 
court of the Eue de la Harpe, and there talked 
over the scenes of the day, and deliberated re- 
specting the morrow. 

The Jacobins now planned one of those hor- 
rible insurrections which sent a thrill of terror 
into every bosom in Paris. Assembling the 
multitudinous throng of demoniac men and 
women which the troubled times had collected 
from every portion of Christendom, they gath- 
ered them around the hall of the Assembly to 
enforce their demands. It was three o'clock in 
the morning of the 31st of May, 1793, when 
the dismal sounds of the alarm bells, spreading 
from belfry to belfry, and the deep booming of 
the insurrection gun, reverberating through the 
streets, aroused the citizens from their slum- 
bers, producing universal excitement and con- 



170 MADAME EOLAND. 

sternatiou. A cold and freezing wind swept 
clouds of mist through the gloomy air, and the 
moaning storm seemed the appropriate requiem 
of a sorrow-stricken world. The Hotel deVille 
was the appointed place of rendezvous for the 
swarming multitudes. The affrighted citizens, 
knowing but too well to what scenes of violence 
and blood these demonstrations were the pre- 
cursors, threw up their windows, and looked 
out with fainting hearts upon the dusky forms 
crowding by like apparitions of darkness. The 
rumbling of the wheels of heavy artillery, the 
flash of powder, with the frequent report of fire- 
arm, and the uproar and the clamor of count- 
less voices, were fearful omens of a day to dawn 
in blacker darkness than the night. The Girond- 
ists had recently been called in the journals 
and inflammatory speeches of their adversaries 
the Eolandists. The name was given them in 
recognition of the prominent position of Ma- 
dame Eoland in the party, and with the en- 
deavor to cast reproach upon her and her hus- 
band. Through all the portentous mutterings 
of this rising storm could be heard deep and 
significant execrations and menaces, coupled 
with the names of leading members of the Gi- 
rondist party. ^' Down with the aristocrats, 
the traitors, the Eolandists ! " shouted inces- 
santly hoarse voices and shrill voices, of drunk- 
en men, of reckless boys, of fiendish women. 



LAST STRUGGLES OJ' THE GIRONDISTS. 171 

The Girondists, apprehensive of some moTe- 
ment of this kind, had generally taken the pre- 
caution not to sleep that night in their own 
dwellings. The intrepid Vergniaud alone re- 
fused to adopt any measure of safety. '' What 
signifies life to me now V said he ; *' my blood 
may be more eloquent than my words in awak- 
ening and saving my country. I am ready for 
the sacrifice.^' One of the Girondists, M. Ea- 
bout, a man of deep, reflective piety, hearing 
these noises, rose from his bed, listened a mo- 
ment at his window to the tumult swelling up 
from every street of the vast metropolis, and 
calmly exclaiming, '^ Ilia suprema dies,'' it is 
our last day, prostrated himself at the foot of 
his bed, and invoked aloud the Divine protec- 
tion upon his companions, his country, and 
himself. Many of his friends were with him, 
friends who knew not the power of prayer. 
But there are hours in which every soul instinc- 
tively craves the mercy of its creator. They 
all bowed reverently, and were profoundly af- 
fected by the supplications of their Christian 
friend. Tortified and tranquilized by the 
potency of prayer, and determining to die, if 
die they must, at the post of duty, at six 
o'clock they descended into the street, with 
pistols and daggers concealed beneath their 
clothes. They succeeded, unrecognized, in 
reaching the Convention in safety. 



172 



MADAME BOLAKD. 



One or two of the Jacobin party were assem- 
bled there at that early hour, and Danton, pale 
with the excitement of a sleepless night, walk- 
ing to and fro in nervous agitation, greeted his 



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A Jacobin Mob. 
old friends with a wan and melancholy smile. 
" Do you see,'' said Louvet to Baudot, "what 
horrible hope shines upon that hideous face ?" 
The members rapidly collected. The hall was 
soon filled. The Girondists were now helpless, 
their sinews of power were cut, and the strug- 
gle was virtually over. 




CHAPTEE IX. 



ARREST OF MADAME ROLAKD. 



France was now governed by the Conven- 
tion. The Convention was governed by the 
mob of Paris. The Jacobins were the head of 
this mob. They roused its rage, and guided 
its fury, when and where they listed. The 
friendship of the mob was secured and retained 
by ever pandering to their passions. The Ja- 
cobins claimed to be exclusively the friends of 
the people, and advocated all those measures 
which tended to crush the elevated and flatter 
the degraded. Eobespierre, Danton, Marat, 
were now the idols of the populace. 

On the morning of the 30th of May, 1793, 
the streets of Paris were darkened with a dis- 
mal storm of low, scudding clouds, and chilling 
winds, and sleet and rain. Pools of water stood 
in the miry streets, and every aspect of nature 
was cheerless and desolate. But there was an- 
other storm raging in those streets, more terri- 
ble than any elemental warfare. In locust le- 
gions, the deformed, the haggard, the brutal- 
ized in form, in features, in mind, in heart — 

173 



174 MADAME EOLAND. 

demoniac men, satanic women, boys burly, 
sensual, bloodthirsty, like imps of darkness 
rioted along toward the Convention, an inter- 
minable multitude whom no one could count. 
Their hideous bowlings thrilled upon the ear, 
and sent panic to the heart. There was no 
power to resist them. There was no protection 
from their violence. And thousands wished 
that they might call up even the most despotic 
king who ever sat upon the throne of France, 
from his grave, to drive back that most terrible 
of all earthly despotisms, the despotism of a mob. 
This was the power with which the Jacobins 
backed their arguments. This was the gory 
blade which they waved before their adversaries, 
and called the sword of justice. 

The Assembly consisted of about eight hun- 
dred members. There were twenty-two illus- 
trious men who were considered the leaders of 
the G-irondist party. The Jacobins had re- 
solved that they should be accused of treason, 
arrested, and condemned. The Convention had 
refused to submit to the arbitrary and bloody 
demand. The mob were now assembled to co- 
erce submission. The melancholy tocsin, and 
the thunders of the alarm gun, resounded 
through the air, as the countless throng came 
pouring along like ocean billows, with a resist- 
lessness which no power could stay. They sur- 
rounded the Assembly on every side, forced 



AEREST OF MADAME ROLAND. 175 

their way into the hall, filled every vacant 
space, clambered upon the benches, crowded the 
speaker in his chair, brandished their daggers, 
and mingled their oaths and imprecations with 
the fierce debate. Even the Jacobins were ter- 
rified by the frightful spirits whom they had 
evoked. " Down with the Girondists ! '' 
' ' Death to the traitors ! '' the assassins shouted. 
The clamor of the mob silenced the Girondists, 
and they hardly made an attempt to speak in 
their defense. They sat upon their benches, 
pale with the emotions which the fearful scenes 
excited, yet firm and unwavering. As Couthon, 
a Jacobin orator, was uttering deep denuncia- 
tions, he became breathless with the vehemence 
of his passionate speech. He turned to a wait- 
er for a glass of water. '' Take to Couthon a 
glass of blood," said Vergniaud ; "'he is thirst- 
ing for it." 

The decree of accusation was proposed, and 
carried, without debate, beneath the poniards 
of uncounted thousands of assassins. The mob 
was triumphant. By acclamation it was then 
voted that all Paris should be joyfully illuminat- 
ed, in celebration of the triumph of the people 
over those who would arrest the onward career 
of the Revolution ; and every citizen of Paris 
well knew the doom which awaited him if brill- 
iant lights were not burning at his windows. 
It was then voted, and with enthusiasm, that 

13— Roland 



176 MADAME EOLAND. 

the Convention should go out and fraternize 
with the multitude. Who would have the te- 
merity, in such an hour, to oppose the affection- 
ate demonstration ? The degraded Assembly 
obeyed the mandate of the mob, and marched 
into the streets, where they were hugged in the 
unclean arms and pressed to the foul bosoms of 
beggary, and infamy, and pollution. Louis was 
avenged. The hours of the day had now passed ; 
night had come ; but it was noonday light 
in the brilliantly-illuminated streets of the me- 
tropolis. The Convention, surrounded by torch- 
bearers, and an innumerable concourse of drunk- 
en men and women, rioting in hideous orgies, 
traversed, in compulsory procession, the princi- 
pal streets of the city. The Girondists wer© 
led as captives to grace the triumph. '' Which 
do you prefer,^' said a Jacobin to Yergniaud, 
'^ this ovation or the scaffold ? " '^ It is all the 
same to me," replied Vergniaud, with stoical in- 
difference. " There is no choice between this 
walk and the guillotine. It conducts us to it." 
The twenty-two G-irondists were arrested and 
committed to prison. 

During this dreadful day, while these scenes 
were passing in the Assembly, Madame Eoland 
and her husband were in their solitary room op- 
pressed with the most painful suspense. The 
cry and the uproar of the insurgent city, the 
tolling of bells and thundering of cannon, were 



AEREST OF MADAME KOLAND. 177 

borne upon the wailings of the gloomy storm 
and sent consternation even to the stoutest 
hearts. There was now no room for escape, for 
the barriers were closed and carefully watched. 
Madame Roland knew perfectly well that if ker 
friends feH she must fall with them. She had 
shared their principles ; she had guided their 
measures, and she wished to participate in their 
doom. It was this honorable feeling which led 
her to refuse to provide for her own safety, and 
which induced her to abide in the midst of ever 
increasing danger, with her associates. No per- 
son obnoxious to suspicion could enter the street 
without fearful peril, though, through the lin- 
gering hours of the day, friends brought them 
tidings of the current of events. Nothing re- 
mained to be done but to await, as patiently 
as possible, the blow that was inevitably to fall. 

The twilight was darkening into night, when 
six armed men ascended the stairs and burst in- 
to Roland^s apartment. The philosopher looked 
calmly upon them as, in the name of the Con- 
vention, they informed him of his arrest. *^ I 
do not recognize the authority of your warrant,^' 
said M. Koland, ^' and shall not voluntarily fol- 
low you. I can only oppose the resistance of 
J^y gray hairs, but I will protest against it with 
my last breath." 

The leader of the party replied, '^ I have no 
orders to use violence. I will go and report 



178 MADAME ROLAND. 

your answer to the council, leaving, in the mean- 
fcime, a guard to secure your person/^ 

This was an hour to rouse all the energy and 
heroic resolution of Madame Roland. She im- 
mediately sat down, and, with that rapidity of 
action which her highly-disciplined mind had 
attained, wrote, in a few moments, a letter to 
the Convention. Leaving a friend who was in 
the house with her husband, she ordered a hack- 
ney coach, and drove as fast as possible to the 
Tuileries, where the Assembly was in session. 
The garden of the Tuileries was filled with the 
tumultuary concourse. She forced her way 
through the crowd till she arrived at the door 
of the outer halls. Sentinels were stationed at 
all the passages, who would not allow her to 
enter 

" Citizens," said she, at last adroitly adopting 
the vernacular of the Jacobins, " in this day of 
salvation for our country, in the midst of those 
traitors who threaten us, you know not the im- 
portance of some notes which I have to transmit 
to the president." 

These words were a talisman. The doors were 
thrown open, and she entered the petitioners^ 
hall. " I wish to see one of the messengers of 
the House," she said to one of the inner senti- 
nels. 

'^ Wait till one comes out," was the gruff 
reply. 



ABREST OF MADAME ROLAND. 179 

She waited for a quarter of an hour in burn- 
ing impatience. Her ear was almost stunned with 
the deafening clamor of debate, of applause, of 
execrations, which now in dying murmurs, and 
again in thundering reverberations, awakening 
responsive echoes along the thronged streets, 
swelled upon the night air. Of all human 
sounds, the uproar of a countless multitude of 
maddened human voices is' the most awful. 

At last she caught a glimpse of the messenger 
who had summoned her to appear before the 
bar of the Assembly in reply to the accusations 
of Viard, informed him of their peril, and 
implored him to hand her letter to the pres- 
ident. The messenger, M. Rdze, took the pa- 
per, and, elbowing his way through the throng, 
disappeared. An hour elapsed, which seemed 
an age. The tumult within continued unabated. 
At length M. Koze reappeared. 

" Well ! " said Madame Roland, eagerly, 
'^ what has been done with my letter ? " 

" I have given it to the president,*^ was the 
reply, '' but nothing has been done with it as 
yet. Indescribable confusion prevails. The 
mob demand the accusation of the Girondists. 
I have just assisted one to escape by a private 
way. Others are endeavoring, concealed by the 
tumult, to effect their escape. There is no 
knowing what is to happen.'^ 

^^ Alas \" Madame Roland replied, ^'my let- 



180 MADAME BOLAND. 

ter will not be read. Do send some deputy to 
me, with whom I can speak a few words/' 

'' Whom shall I send ? " 

'* Indeed I have but little acquaintance with 
any, and but little esteem for any, except those 
who are proscribed. Tell Vergniaud that I am 
inquiring for him." 

Vergniaud, notwithstanding the terrific agi- 
tations of the hour, immediately attended the 
summons of Madame Eoland. She implored 
him to try to get her admission to the bar, that 
she might speak in defense of her husband and 
her friends. 

" In the present state of the Assembly," said 
Vergniaud, '^ it would be impossible, and if 
possible, of no avail. The Convention has lost 
all power. It has become but the weapon of 
the rabble. Your words can do no good." 

'^ They may do much good," replied Madame 
Boland. '^ I can venture to say that which you 
could not say without exposing yourself to ac- 
cusation. I fear nothing. If I cannot save 
Eoland, I will utter with energy truths which 
may be useful to the Eepublic. An example 
of courage may shame the nation." 

** Think how unavailing the attempt," re- 
plied Vergniaud. ''Your letter cannot pos- 
sibly be read for two or three hours. A crowd 
of petitioners throng the bar. Noise, and con- 
fusion, and violence fill the House," 



ARllEg:^ Oi^ MADAMfi llOLAl!tl>. 181 

Madame Roland paused for a moment, and 
replied, '^ I must then hasten home, and ascer- 
tain what has become of my husband. I will 
immediately return. Tell our friends so." 

Vergniaud sadly pressed her hands, as if for 
a last farewell, and returned, invigorated by her 
courage, to encounter the storm which was 
hailed upon him in the Assembly. She hastened 
to her dwelling, and found that her husband 
had succeeded in eluding the surveillance of his 
guards, and, escaping by a back passage, had 
taken refuge in the house of a friend. After a 
short search she found him in his asylnm, and, 
too deeply moved to weep, threw Kerself into 
his arms, informed him of what she had done, 
rejoiced at his safety, and heroically returned 
to the Convention, resolved, if possible, to ob- 
tain admission there. It was now near mid- 
night. The streets were brilliant with illumin- 
ations ; but Madame Roland knew not of 
which party these illuminations celebrated the 
triumph. 

On her arrival at the court of the Tuileries, 
which had so recently been thronged by a mob 
of forty thousand men, she found it silent and 
deserted. The sitting was ended. The mem- 
bers, accompanied by the populace with whom 
they had fraternized, were traversing the streets. 
A few sentinels stood shivering in the cold and 
drizzling rain around the doors of the national 



182 MADAME ROLAND. 

palace. A group of rough-looking men were 
gathered before a cannon. Madame Roland 
approached them. 

''Citizens/' inquired she, ''has everything 
gone well to-night ? " 

" Oh ! wonderfully well/' was the reply. 
" The deputies and the people embraced, and 
sung the Marseilles Hymn, there, under the 
tree of liberty." 

" And what has become of the twenty-two 
Girondists ? " 

"They are all to be arrested.'' 

Madame Roland was almost stunned by the 
blow. Hastily crossing the court, she arrived 
at her hackney-coach. A very pretty dog, 
which had lost its master, followed her. " Is 
the poor little creature yours ? " inquired the 
coachman. The tones of kindness with which 
he spoke called up the first tears which had 
moistened the eyes of Madame Roland that 
eventful night. 

" I should like him for my little boy," said 
the coachman. 

Madame Roland, gratified to have, at such 
an hour, for a driver, a father and a man of 
feeling, said, " Put him into the coach, and I 
will take care of him for you. Drive immedi- 
ately to the galleries of the Louvre." Madame 
Roland caressed the affectionate animal, and, 
weary of the passions of man, longed for retire- 



ARREST OF MADAME ROLAND. 183 

ment from the world, and to seclude herself 
with those animals who would repay kindness 
with gratitude. She sank back in her seat, ex- 
claiming, '' that we could escape from France, 
and find a home in the law-governed republic 
of America." 

Alighting at the Louvre, she called upon a 
friend, with whom she wished to consult upon 
the means of effecting M. Roland^s escape from 
the city. He had just gone to bed, but arose, 
conversed about various plans, and made an ap- 
pointment to meet her at seven o'clock the next 
morning. Entirely unmindful of herself, she 
thought only of the rescue of her friends. Ex- 
hausted with excitement and toil, she returned 
to her desolated home, bent over the sleeping 
form of her child, and gave vent to a mother's 
gushing love in a flood of tears. Recovering 
her fortitude, she sat down and wrote to M. 
Roland a minute account of all her proceedings. 
It would have periled his safety had she at- 
tempted to share his asylum. The gray of a 
dull and somber morning was just beginning to 
appear as Madame Roland threw herself upon a 
bed for a few moments of repose. Overwhelmed 
by sorrow and fatigue, she had just fallen asl-eep, 
when a band of armed men rudely broke into 
her house, and demanded to be conducted to 
her apartment. She knew too well the object 
of the summons. The order for her arrest was 



184 MADAME ROLAND. 

presented her. She calmly read it, and re- 
quested permission to write to a friend. The 
request was granted. When the note was fin- 
ished, the ofl&cer informed her that it would be 
necessary for him to be made acquainted with 
its contents. She quietly tore it into frag- 
ments, and cast it into the fire. Then, imprint- 
ing her last kiss upon the cheek of her uncon- 
scious child, with the composure which such a 
catastrophe would naturally produce in so 
heroic a mind, she left her home for the prison. 
Blood had been flowing too freely in Paris, the 
guillotine had been too active in its operations, 
for Madame Roland to entertain any doubts 
whither the path she now trod was tending. 

It was early in the morning of a bleak and 
dismal day as Madame Roland accompanied 
the officers through the hall of her dwelling, 
where she had been the object of such enthusi- 
astic admiration and affection. The servants 
gathered around her, and filled the house with 
their lamentations. Even the hardened sol- 
diers were moved by the scene, and one of them 
exclaimed, " How much you are heloved ! " 
Madame Roland, who alone was tranquil in this 
hour of trial, cualmly replied, '^ Because I love." 
As she was led from the house by the gens- 
d'armes, a vast crowd collected around the door, 
who, believing her to be a traitor to her coun- 
try,and in league with their enemies, shouted. 




Madame Roland, 



The Last Night of the Girondiats. 



AEBEST OF MADAME KOLAND. 185 

" A la guillotine ! " Unmoved by their cries, 
she looked calmly and compassionately upon the 
populace, without gesture or reply. One of the 
officers, to relieve her from the insults to which 
she was exposed, asked her if she wished to have 
the windows of the carriage closed. 

^^No!" she replied ; ''^ oppressed innocence 
should not assume the attitude of crime and 
shame. I do not fear the looks of honest men, 
and I brave those of my enemies." 

" You have very great resolution," was the 
reply, ''thus calmly to await justice." 

'' Justice ! " she exclaimed ; " were justice 
done I should not be here. But I shall go to 
the scaffold as fearlessly as I now proceed to 
the prison." 

" Koland's flight," said one of the officers, 
brutally, '' is a proof of his guilt." 

She indignantly replied, '' It is so atrocious 
to persecute a man who has rendered such ser- 
vices to the cause of liberty. His conduct has 
been so open and his accounts so clear, that he 
is perfectly justifiable in avoiding the last out- 
rages of envy and malige. Just as Aristides 
and inflexible as Cato, he is indebted to his vir- 
tues for his enemies. Let them satiate their 
fury upon me. I defy their power, and devote 
myself to death. Re ought to save himself for 
the sake of his country, to which he may yet 
do good." 



186 MADAME EOLAKD. 

When they arrived at the prison of the Ab- 
baye, Madame Koland was first conducted into 
a large, dark, gloomy room, which was occu- 
pied by a number of men, who, in attitudes of 
the deepest melancholy, were either pacing the 
floor or reclining upon some miserable pallets. 
From this room she ascended a narrow and 
dirty staircase to the jailer's apartment. The 
jailer's wife was a kind woman, and imme- 
diately felt the power of the attractions of her 
fascinating prisoner. As no cell was yet pro- 
vided for her, she permitted her to remain in her 
room for the rest of the day. The commission- 
ers who had brought her to the prison gave or- 
ders that she should receive no indulgence, but 
be treated with the utmost rigor. The instruc- 
tions, however, being merely verbal, were but 
little regarded. She was furnished with com- 
fortable refreshment instead of the repulsive 
prison fare, and, after breakfast, was permitted 
to write a letter to the National Assembly upon 
her illegal arrest. Thus passed the day. 

At ten o'clock in the evening, her cell being 
prepared, she entered, it for the first time. It 
was a cold, bare room, with walls blackened by 
the dust and damp of ages. There was a small 
fireplace in the room, and a narrow window, 
with a double iron grating, which admitted but 
a dim twilight even at noonday. In one cor- 
ner there was a pallet of straw. The chill night 



ARREST OF MADAME KOLAND. 187 

air crept in at the unglazed window, and the 
dismal tolling of the tocsin proclaimed that the 
metropolis was still the scene of tumult and of 
violence. Madame Roland threw herself upon 
her humble bed, and was so overpowered by fa- 
tigue and exhaustion that she woke not from 
her dreamless slumber until twelve o'clock of 
the next day. 

Eudora, who had been left by her mother in 
the care of weeping domestics, was taken by a 
friend, and watched over and protected with 
maternal care. Though Madame Roland never 
saw her idolized child again, her heart was com- 
forted in the prison by the assurance that she 
had found a home with those who, for her moth- 
er's sake, would love and cherish her. 

The tidings of the arrest and imprisonment 
of Madame Roland soon reached the ears of her 
unfortunate husband in his retreat. His em- 
barrassment was most agonizing. To remain 
and participate in her doom, whatever that 
doom might be, would only diminish her chances 
of escape and magnify her peril ; and yet it 
seemed not magnanimous to abandon his noble 
wife to encounter her merciless foes alone. 
The triumphant Jacobins were now, with the 
eagerness of bloodhounds, searching every nook 
and corner in Paris, to drag the fallen minister 
from his concealment. It soon became evident 
that no dark hiding-place in the metropolis 



188 MADAME BOLAND. 

conld long conceal him from the vigilant search 
which was commenced, and that he must seek 
safety in precipitate flight. His friend s obtained 
for him the tattered garb of a peasant. In 
a dark night, alone and trembling, he stole from 
his retreat, and commenced a journey on foot, 
by a circuitous and unfrequented route, to gain 
the frontiers of Switzerland. He hoped to find 
a temporary refuge by burying himself among 
the lonely passes of the Alps. A man can face 
his foes with a spirit undaunted and unyielding, 
but he cannot fly from them without trembling 
as he looks behind. For two or three days, 
with blistered feet,, and a heart agitated even 
beyond all his powers of stoical endurance, he 
toiled painfully along his dreary journey. As 
he was entering Moulines, his marked features 
were recognized. He was arrested, taken back 
to Paris, and cast into prison, where he lan- 
guished for some time. He subsequently again 
made his escape, and was concealed by some 
friends in the vicinitv of Eouen, where he re- 
mained in a state of indescribable suspense and 
anguish until the death of his wife. 

When Madame Eoland awoke from her long 
sleep, instead of yielding to despair and sur- 
rendering herself to useless repinings, she im- 
mediately began to arrange her cell as comfort- 
ably as possible, and to look around for such 
sources of comfort and enjoyment as might yet 



ARREST 01^ MADAME ROLAKD. IBS 

be obtained. The course she pursued most 
beautifully illustrates the power of a contented 
and cheerful spirit not only to alleviate the 
pangs of severest affliction, but to gild with 
comfort even the darkest of earthly sorrows. 
With those smiles of unaffected affability which 
won to her all hearts, she obtained the favor of 
a small table, and then of a neat white spread 
to cover it. This she placed near the window 
to serve for her writing-desk. To keep this ta- 
ble, which she prized so highly, unsoiled, she 
smilingly told her keeper that she should make 
a dining-table of her stove. A rusty dining- 
table indeed it was. Two hair-pins, which she 
drew from her own clustering ringlets, she drove 
into a shelf for pegs to hang her clothes upon. 
These arrangements she made as cheerfully as 
when superintending the disposition of the gor- 
geous furniture in the palace over which she 
had presided with so much elegance and grace. 
Having thus provided her study, her next care 
was to obtain a few books. She happened to 
have Thomson's Seasons, a favorite volume of 
hers, in her pocket. Through the jailer's wife 
she succeeded in obtaining Plutarch's Lives 
and Sheridan's Dictionary. 

The jailer and his wife were both charmed 
with their prisoner, and invited her to dine 
with them that day. In the solitude of her 
cell she could distinctly hear the rolling of 

14-Bolana 



190 MADAME UOLAKD. 

drums, the tolling of bells, and all those sounds 
of tumult which announced that the storm of 
popular insurrection was still sweeping through 
the streets. One of her faithful servants called 
to see her, and, on beholding her mistress in 
such a situation, the poor girl burst into tears. 
Madame Roland was, for a moment, overcome 
by this sensibility ; she, however, soon again 
regained her self-command. She endeavored 
to banish from her mind all painful thoughts of 
her husband and her child, and to accommodate 
herself as heroically as possible to her situation. 
The prison regulations were very severe. The 
government allowed twenty pence per day for the 
support of each prisoner. Ten pence was to 
be paid to the jailer for the furniture he put 
into the cell ; ten pence only remained for 
food. The prisoners were, however, allowed 
to purchase such food as they pleased from 
their own purse. Madame Roland, with that 
stoicism which enabled her to triumph over 
all ordinary ills, resolved to conform to the 
prison allowance. She took bread and water 
alone for breakfast. The dinner was coarse 
meat and vegetables. The money she saved by 
this great frugality she distributed among the 
poorer prisoners. The only indulgence she 
allowed herself was in the purchase of books 
and flowers. In reading and with her pen she 
beguiled the weary days of her imprisonment. 



ARREST OF MADAME ROLAND. 191 

And though at times her spirit was over- 
whelmed with anguish in view of her desolate 
home and blighted hopes, she still found great 
solace in the warm affections which sprang up 
around her, even in the uncongenial atmos- 
phere of a prison. 

Though she had been compelled to abandon 
all the enthusiastic dreams of her youth, she 
still retained confidence in her faith that these 
dark storms would ere long disappear from the 
political horizon, and that a brighter day would 
soon dawn upon the nations. No misfortunes 
could disturb the serenity of her soul, and no 
accumulating perils could daunt her courage. 
She immediately made a methodical arrange- 
ment of her time, so as to appropriate stated 
employment to every hour. She cheered her- 
self with the reflection that her husband was 
safe in his retreat, with kind friends ready 
to minister to all his wants. She felt assured 
that her daughter was received with maternal 
love by one who would ever watch over her 
with the tenderest care. The agitation of the 
terrible conflict was over. She submitted with 
calmness and quietude to her lot. After hav- 
ing been so long tossed by storms, she seemed 
to find a peaceful harbor in her prison cell, and 
her spirit wandered back to those days, so 
serene and happy, which she spent with her 
books in the little chamber beneath her father's 



192 MADAME EOLAND. 

roof. She, however, made every effort in her 
power to regain her freedom. She wrote to 
the Assembly, protesting against her illegal 
arrest. She found all these efforts unavailing. 
Still, she gave way to no despondency, and 
uttered no murmurs. Most of her time she 
employed in writing historic notices of the 
scenes through she had passed. These papers 
she intrusted, for preservation, to a friend, who 
occasionally gained access to her. These arti- 
cles, written with great eloquence and feeling, 
were subsequently published with her memoirs. 
Having such resources in her own highly-culti- 
vated mind, even the hours of imprisonment 
glided rapidly and happily along. Time had 
no tardy flight, and there probably might have 
been found many a lady in Europe lolling in a 
sumptuous carriage, or reclining upon a silken 
couch, who had far fewer hours of enjoy- 
ment. 

One day some commissioners called at her 
cell, hoping to extort from her the secret of her 
husband's retreat. She looked them calmly in 
the face, and said, ^^ Gentlemen, I know per- 
fectly well where my husband is. I scorn to 
tell you a lie. I know also my own strength. 
And I assure you that there is no earthly power 
which can induce me to betray him.'* The com- 
missioners withdrew, admiring her heroism, 
and convinced that she was still able to wield 



ARREST OF MADAME ROLAND. 193 

an influence which might yet bring the guillo- 




The Guillotine, 
tine upon their own necks. Her doom was 
sealed. Her heroism was her crime. She was 
too iiiustrious to live. 



,^BpiF^|(K|^'1^^yE^gmTjj\ i i \ , I \ / 



CHAPTER X. 

FATE OF THE GIRON-DISTS. 

As the fate of the Girondist party, of which 
Madame Koland was the soul, is so intimately 
connected with her history, we must leave her 
in the prison, while we turn aside to contem- 
plate the doom of her companions. The por- 
tentous thunders of the approaching storm had 
given such warning to the Girondists, that 
many had effected their escape from Paris, and 
in various disguises, in friendlessness and pov- 
erty, were wandering over Europe. Others, 
however, were too proud to fly. Conscious of 
the most elevated patriotic sentiments, and with 
no criminations of conscience, except for sacri- 
ficing too much in love for their country, they 
resolved to remain firm at their post, and to 
face their foes. Calmly and sternly they 
awaited the onset. This heroic courage did 
but arouse and invigorate their foes. Mercy 
had long since died in France. 

Immediately after the tumult of that dread- 
ful night in which the Convention was inundat- 
ed with assassins clamoring for blood, twenty- 
194 



PATE OF THE GIRONDISTS. 195 

one of the Girondists were arrested and thrown 
into the dungeons of the Conciergerie. Impris- 
oned together, and fully conscious that their 
trial would be but a mockery, and that their 
doom was already sealed, they fortified one 
another with all the consolations which phil- 
osophy and the pride of magnanimity could ad- 
minister. In those gloomy cells, beneath the 
level of the street, into whose deep and grated 
windows the rays of the noonday sun could but 
feebly penetrate, their faces soon grew wan, and 
wasted, and haggard, from confinement, the 
foul prison air and wo. 

There is no sight more deplorable than that 
of an accomplished man of intellectual tastes, 
accustomed to all the refinements of polished 
life, plunged into those depths of misery from 
which the decencies even of our social being are 
excluded. These illustrious statesmen and elo- 
quent orators, whose words had vibrated upon 
the ear of Europe, were transformed into the 
most revolting aspect of beggared and haggard 
misery. Their clothes, ruined by the humid 
filth of their dungeons, moldered to decay. 
Unwashed, unshorn, in the loss almost of the 
aspect of humanity, they became repulsive to 
each other. Unsupported by any of those con- 
solations which religion affords, many hours 
of the blackest gloom must have enveloped 
them. 



196 MADAME KOLAND. 

Not a few of the deputies were young men, 
in the morning of their energetic being, their 
bosoms glowing with all the passions of this 
tumultuous world, buoyant with hope, stimu- 
lated by love, invigorated by perfect health. 
And they found themselves thus suddenly 
plunged from the heights of honor and power 
to the dismal darkness of the dungeon, from 
whence they could emerge only to be led to the 
scaffold. All the bright hopes of life had gone 
down amid the gloom of midnight darkness. 
Several months lingered slowly away while 
these men were awaiting their trial. Day after 
day they heard the tolling of the tocsin, the 
reverberations of the alarm gun, and the beat- 
ing of the insurrection drum, as the demon of 
lawless violence rioted through the streets of 
the blood-stained metropolis. The execrations 
of the mob, loud and fiend-like, accompanied 
the cart of the condemned, as it rumbled upon 
the pavements above their heads, bearing the 
victims of popular fury to the guillotine ; and 
still, most stoically, they struggled to nerve 
their souls with fortitude to meet their fate. 

From these massive stone walls, guarded by 
triple doors of iron and watched by numerous 
sentinels, answerable for the safe custody of 
their prisoners with their lives, there was no 
possibility of escape. The rigor of their im- 
prisonment was, consequently, somewhat soft- 



FATE OF THE GIBONDISTS. 197 

ened as weeks passed on, and they were oc- 
casionally permitted to see their friends through 
the ho^ wicket. Books, also, aided to relieve 
the tedium of confinement. The brother-in- 
law of Vergniaud came to visit him, and brought 
with him his son, a child ten years of age. The 
features of the fair boy reminded Vergniaud 
of his beloved sister, and awoke mournfully in 
his heart the remembrance of departed joys. 
When the child saw his ^^ncle imprisoned like 
a malefactor, his cheeks haggard and sunken, 
his matted hair straggling over his forehead, 
his long beard disfiguring his face, and his 
clothes hanging in tatters, he clung to his 
father, affrighted by the sad sight, and burst 
into tears. 

" My, child/' said Vergniaud, kindly, taking 
him in his arms, '' look well at me. When you 
are a man, you can say that you saw Vergniaud, 
the founder of the Kepublic, at the most 
glorious period, and in the most splendid cos- 
tume he ever wore — that in which he suffered 
unmerited persecution, and in which he pre- 
pared to die for liberty.'^ These words pro- 
duced a deep impression upon the mind of the 
child. He remembered them to repeat them 
after the lapse of half a century. 

The cells in which they were imprisoned still 
remain as they were left on the morning in 
which these illustrious men were led to their 



198 MADAME EOLAND. 

execution. On the dingy walls of stone are 
still recorded those sentiments which they had 
inscribed there, and which indicate the nature 
of those emotions which animated and sus- 
tained them. These proverbial maxims and 
heroic expressions, gleaned from French trage- 
dies or the classic page, were written with the 
blood which they had drawn from their own 
veins. In one place is carefully written, 

" Quand il n'a pu sauver la liberte de Rome, 
Caton est libre encore et suit mourir en homme." 

" When he no longer had power to preserve the liberty 
of Rome, 
Cato still was free, and knew how to die for man" 

Again, 

" Cui virtus non deest 
lUe nunquam omnino miser." 

*' J3e who retains his integrity 

Can never he wholly miserable" 

In another place, 

" La vraie liberte est celle de I'ame." 
" True liberty is that of the soul." 

On a beam was written, 

" Dignum certe Deo spectaculum fortem vi- 
rum cum calamitate colkictantem.''^ 

''Even God may loolc ivitJi pleasure iipon a 
hrave man struggling against adversity.'" 

Again, 



PATE OF THE GIRONDISTS. 199 

" Quels solides appui dans le malheur supreme I 
J'ai pour moi ma vertu, I'equite, Dieu meme." 

" How substantial the consolation in the greatest 

calamity 
I have for mine, my virtue, justice, God himself" 

Beneath this was written, 

"Le journ'est pas plus pur que le fond demon 
cceur." 
^^ The day is not more purd than the depths of my 
heart." 

In large letters of blood there was inscribed, 
in the hand-writing of Vergniaud, 

"Potius mori quam foedari." 

" Death is preferable to dishonor. 

But one sentence is recorded there which 
could be considered strictly of a religious char- 
acter. It was taken froni the '^ Imitation of 
Christ."' 

^' Remember that yon are not called to a life 
of indulgence and pleasure, but to toil and to 
suffer."' 

La Source and Sillery, two very devoted 
friends, occupied a cell together. La Source 
was a devoted Christian, and found, in the con- 
solations of piety, an unfailing support. Sil- 
lery possessed a feeling heart, and was soothed 
and comforted by the devotion of his friend. 
La Source composed a beautiful hymn, adapted 
to a sweet and solemn air, which they called 



200 MADAME BOLAND. 

their evening service. Night after night this 
mournful dirge was heard gently issuing from 
the darkness of their cell, in tones so melodious 
and plaintive that they never died away from 
the memory of those who heard them. It is 
difficult to conceive of anything more affecting 
than this knell, so softly uttered at midnight in 
those dark and dismal dungeons. 

" Calm all the tumults that invade 
Our souls, and lend thy powerful aid. 
Oh I source of mercy ! soothe our pains, 
And break, O break our cruel chains \ 
To thee the captive pours his cry, 
To Thee the mourner loves to fly. 
The incense of our tears receive — 
'Tis all the incense we can give. 

** Eternal Power I our cause defend, 
O God ! of innocence the friend. 
Near Thee forever she resides, 
In Thee forever she confides. 
Thou know'st the secrets of the breast ; 
Thou know'st the oppressor and the oppress'd. 
Do thou our wrongs with pity see, 
Avert a doom offending thee. 

" But should the murdeier's arm prevail ; 
Should tyranny our lives assail ; 
Unmoved, triumphant, scorning death, 
"We'll bless Thee with our latest breath. 
The hour, the glorious hour will come, 
That consecrates the patriots' tomb ; 
And with the pang our memory claims, 
Our country will avenge our names," 



FATE OF THE GIRONDISTS. 201 

Summer had come and gone while these dis- 
tinguished prisoners were awaiting their doom. 
World-weary and sick at heart, they still strug- 
gled to sustain each other, and to meet their 
dreadful fate with heroic constancy. The day 
for their trial at length arrived. It was the 
20th of October, 1793. They had long been 
held up before the mob, by placards and im- 
passioned harangues, as traitors to their country, 
and the populace of Paris were clamorous for 
their consignment to the guillotine. They were 
led from the dungeons of the Conciergerie to 
the misnamed Halls of Justice. A vast con- 
course of angry men surrounded the tribunal, 
and filled the air with execrations. Paris that 
day presented the aspect of a camp. The Ja- 
cobins, conscious that there were still thousands 
of the most influential of the citizens who re- 
garded the Girondists with veneration as incor- 
ruptible patriots, determined to prevent the 
possibility of a rescue. They had some cause 
to apprehend a counter revolution. They there- 
fore gathered around the scene of trial all that 
imposing military array which they had at their 
disposal. Cavalry, with plumes, and helmets, 
and naked sabers, were sweeping the streets, 
that no accumulations of the multitude might 
gather force. The pavements trembled beneath 
the rumbling wheels of heavy artillery, ready 
to belch forth their storm of grape-shot upon 



202 MADAME ROLAND. 

any opposing foe. Long lines of infantry, with 
loaded muskets and glittering bayonets, guard- 
ed all the avenues to the tribunal, where ran- 
corous passion sat enthroned in mockery upon 
the seat of justice. 

The prisoners had nerved themselves sternly 
to meet this crisis of their doom. Two by two, 
in solemn procession, they marched to the bar 
of judgment, and took their seat upon benches 
surrounded by gends'armes and a frowning pop- 
ulace, and arraigned before judges already de- 
termined upon their doom. The eyes of the 
world were, however, upon them. The ac- 
cused were illustrious in integrity, in rank, in 
talent. In the distant provinces there were 
thousands who were their friends. It was neces- 
sary to go through the formality of a trial. A 
few of the accused still clung to the hope of 
life. They vainly dreamed it possible that, by 
silence, and the abandonment of themselves to 
the resistless power by which they were crushed, 
some mercy might be elicited. It was a 
weakness unworthy of these great men. But 
there are few minds which can remain firm 
while immured for months in the wasting mis- 
ery of a dungeon. In those glooms the sinews 
of mental energy wither with dying hope. The 
trial continued for a week. On the 30th oi 
October, at eleven o'clock at night, the verdict 
was brought in. They were all declared guilty 



S'ATE OF THE GIROKDISTS. 20^ 

of having conspired against the Eepnblic, and 
were condemned to death. With the light of 
the next morning's sun they were to be led to 
the guillotine. 

As the sentence was pronounced, one of the 
accused, M. Valaze, made a motion with his 
hand, as if to tear his garment, and fell from 
his seat upon the floor. " What, Valaze,'' said 
Brissot, striving to support him, '^ are you los- 
ing your courage ? " '' '^o" replied Valaz^, 
faintly, ^ ' I am dying ; " and he expired, with 
his hand still grasping the hilt of the dagger 
with which he had pierced his heart. For a 
moment it was a scene of unutterable horror. 
The condemned gathered sadly around the re- 
mains of their lifeless companion. Some, who 
had confidently expected acquittal, overcome 
by the near approach of death, yielded to mo- 
mentary weakness, and gave utterance to re- 
proaches and lamentations. Others, pale and 
stupefied, gazed around in moody silence. One, 
in the delirium of enthusiasm, throwing his 
arms above his head, shouted, ^^This is the 
most glorious day of my life ! " Vergniaud, 
seated upon the highest bench, with the com- 
posure of philosophy and piety combined, 
looked upon the scene, exulting in the victory 
his own spirit had achieved over peril and death. 

The weakness which a few displayed was but 
momentary. They rallied their energies boldly 



204 MADAME ROLAND. 

to meet their inevitable doom. They gathered 
for a moment around the corpse of their lifeless 
companion, and were then formed in procession, 
to march back to their cells. It was midnight as 
the condemned Girondists were led from the bar 
of the Palace of Justice back to the dungeons of 
the Conciergerie, there to wait till the swift- 
winged hours should bring the dawn which was 
to guide their steps to the guillotine. Their pres- 
ence of mind had now returned, and their bosoms 
glowed with the loftiest enthusiasm. In ful- 
filment of a promise they had made their fellow- 
prisoners, to inform them of their fate by the 
echoes of their voices, they burst into the Mar- 
seillaise Hymn. The vc^ults of the Conciergerie 
rang with the song as they shouted, in tones of 
exultant energy, 

" AUons, enfans dc la patrie, 
Le jour the glorie est arrivd, 
Centre nous de la tyrannie 
L'etendard sanglant est leve. 

" Come I children of your country, come ! 
The day of glory dawns on high, 
And tyranny has wide unfurl'd 
Her blood-stain'd banner in the sky." 

It was their death-knell. As they were slow- 
ly led along through the gloomy corridors of 
their prison to the cells, these dirge-like wail- 
ings of a triumphant song penetrated the re- 
motest dungeons of that dismal abode, and 



FATE OF THE GIRONDISTS. 205 

ronsed every wretched head from its pallet. 
The arms of the guard clattered along the stone 
floor of the subterranean caverns, and the un- 
happy victims of the Revolution, roused from 
the temporary oblivion of sleep, or from dreams 
of the homes of refinement and luxury from 
which they had been torn, glared through the 
iron gratings upon the melancholy procession, 
and uttered last words of adieu to those whose 
fate they almost envied. The acquittal of the 
Girondists would have given them some little 
hope that they also might find mercy. Now 
they sunk back upon their pillows in despair, 
and lamentations and wailings filled the prison. 

The condemned, now that their fate was sealed, 
had laid aside all weakness, and, mutually 
encouraging one another, prepared as martyrs 
to encounter the last stern trial. They were 
all placed in one large room opening into sev- 
eral cells, and the lifeless body of their compan- 
ion was deposited in one of the corners. By a 
decree of the tribunal, the still warm and bleed- 
ing remains of Valaze were to be carried back 
to the cell, and to be conveyed the next morn- 
ing, in the same cart with the prisoners, to the 
guillotine. The ax was to sever the head from 
the lifeless body, and all the headless trunks 
were to be interred together. 

A wealthy friend, who had escaped proscrip- 
tion, and was concealed in Paris, had agreed to 

15— Roland 



206 MADAME BOLAND. 

send them a sumptuous banquet the night after 
their trial, which banquet was to prove to them 
a funeral repast or a triumphant feast, accord- 
ing to the verdict of acquittal or condemnation. 
Their friend kept his word. Soon after the 
prisoners were remanded to their cell, a table 
was spread, and preparations were made for 
their last supper. There was a large oaken table 
in the prison, where those awaiting their trial, 
and those awaiting their execution, met for their 
coarse prison fare. A rich cloth was spread up- 
on that table. Servants entered, bearing brill- 
iant lamps, which illuminated the dismal vault 
with an unnatural luster, and spread the glare 
of noonday light upon the miserable pallets of 
straw, the rusty iron gratings and chains, and 
the stone walls weeping with moisture, which 
no ray of the sun or warmth of fire ever dried 
away. It was a strange scene, that brilliant 
festival, in the midst of the glooms of the most 
dismal dungeon, with one dead body lying upon 
the floor, and those for whom the feast was pre- 
pared waiting only for the early dawn to light 
them to their death and burial. The richest 
viands of meats and wines were brought in and 
placed before the condemned. Vases of flowers 
diffused their fragrance and expanded their 
beauty where flowers were never seen to bloom 
before. Wan and haggard faces, unwashed 
and unshorn, gazed upon the unwonted spec- 



FATE OF THE GIRONDISTS. 207 

tacle, as dazzling flambeanx, and rich table fur- 
niture, and bouquets, and costly dishes appeared, 
one after another, until the board was covered 
with luxury and splendor. 

In silence the condemned took their places at 
the table. They were men of brilliant intel- 
lects, of enthusiastic eloquence, thrown sud- 
denly from the heights of power to the foot of 
the scaffold. A priest, the Abb6 Lambert, the 
intimate personal friend of several of the most 
eminent of the Girondists, had obtained admit- 
tance into the prison to accompany his friends 
to the guillotine, and to administer to them the 
last consolations of religion. He stood in the 
corridor, looking through the open door upon 
those assembled around the table, and with his 
pencil in his hand, noted down their words, 
their gestures, their sighs — their weakness and 
their strength. It is to him that we are in- 
debted for all knowledge of the sublime scenes 
enacted at the last supper of the Girondists. 
The repast was prolonged until the dawn of 
morning began to steal faintly in at the grated 
windows of the prison, and the gathering tu- 
mult without announced the preparations to 
conduct them to their execution. 

Vergniaud, the most prominent and the most 
eloquent of their number, presided at the feast. 
He had little, save the love of glory, to bind 
him to life, for he had neither father nor 



208 MADAME ROLAND. 

mother, wife nor child ; and he doubted not 
that posterity would do him justice, and that 
his death would be the most glorious act of his 
life. No one could imagine, from the calm and 
subdued conversation, and the quiet appetite 
with which these distinguished men partook of 
the entertainment, that this was their last re- 
past, and but the prelude to a violent death. 
But when the cloth was removed, and the fruits, 
the wines, and the flowers alone remained, the 
conversation became animated, gay, and at 
times rose to hilarity. Several of the youngest 
men of the party, in sallies of wit and outbursts 
of laughter, endeavored to repel the gloom 
which darkened their spirits in view of death 
on the morrow. It was unnatural gaiety, un- 
real, unworthy of the men. Death is not a 
jest, and no one can honor himself by trying to 
make it so. A spirit truly noble can encounter 
this king of terrors with fortitude, but never 
with levity. Still, now and then, shouts of 
laughter and songs of merriment burst from 
the lips of these young men, as they endeavored, 
with a kind of hysterical energy, to nerve them- 
selves to show to their enemies their contempt 
of life and of death. Others were more thought- 
ful, serene, and truly brave. 

'' What shall we be doing to-morrow at this 
time ? '' said Ducos. 

All paused. Religion had its hopes, philos' 



PATE OP THE GIRONDISTS. 209' 

ophy its dreams, infidelity its dreary blank. 
Each answered according to his faith. " We 
shall sleep after the fatigues of the day," said 
some, '' to wake no more.'^ Atheism had dark- 
ened their minds. " Death is an eternal sleep," 
had become their gloomy creed. They looked 
forward to the slide of the guillotine as ending 
all thought, and consigning them back to that 
non-existence from which they had emerged at 
their creation. " No ! " replied Fauchet, 
Carru, and others, '' annihilation is not our 
destiny. We are immortal. These bodies 
may perish. These living thoughts, these 
boundless aspirations, can never die. , To-mor- 
row, far away in other worlds, we shall thinks 
and feel, and act, and solve the problems of th( 
immaterial destiny of the human mind." Im/ 
mortality was the theme. The song was hushed 
upon these dying lips. The forced laughter 
faded away. Standing upon the brink of that 
dread abyss from whence no one has returned 
with tidings, every soul felt a longing for im- 
mortality. They turned to Vergniaud, whose 
brilliant intellect, whose soul-moving eloquence, 
whose spotless life commanded their reverence, 
and appealed to him for light, and truth, and 
consolation. His words are lost. The effect 
of his discourse alone is described. '^ Never," 
said the abbe, "^^ had his look, his gesture, his 
language, and his voice more profoundly af- 



210 MADAME ROLAND. 

fected his hearers/' In the conclusion of a dis- 
course which is described as one of almost 
superhuman eloquence, during which some 
were aroused to the most exalted enthusiasm, 
all were deeply moved, and many wept, Vergni- 
aud exclaimed, 

" Death is but the greatest act of life, since 
it gives birth to a higher state of existence. 
Were it not thus there would be something 
greater than God. It would be the just man 
immolating himself uselessly and hopelessly for 
his country. This supposition is a folly of blas- 
phemy, and I repel it with contempt and hor- 
ror. No ! Vergniaud is not greater than God ; 
but God is more just than Yergniaud ; and He 
will not to-morrow suffer him to ascend a scaf- 
fold but to justify and avenge him in future 
ages." 

And now the light of day began to stream in 
at the windows. '^ Let us go to bed,*' said one, 
^' and sleep until we are called to go forth to our 
last sleep. Life is a thing so trifling that it is 
not worth the hour of sleep we lose in regret- 
ting it.'' 

" Let us rather watch," said another, '' dur- 
ing the few moments which remain to us. 
Eternity is so certain and so terrible that a 
thousand lives would not suffice to prepare for 
it." 

They rose from the table, and most of them 



FATE OF THE GIRONDISTS. 211 

retired to their cells and threw themselves 
upon their beds for a few moments of bodily 
repose and meditation. Thirteen, however, 
remained in the larger apartment, finding a 
certain kind of support in society. In a low 
tone of voice they conversed with each other. 
They were worn out with excitement, fatigue, 
and want of sleep. Some wept. Sleep kindly 
came to some, and lulled their spirits into 
momentary oblivion. 

At ten o'clock the iron doors grated on their 
hinges, and the tramp of the gens d^armes, with 
the clattering of their sabers, was heard rever- 
berating through the gloomy corridors and 
vaults of their dungeon, as they came, with the 
executioners, to lead the condemned to the 
scaffold. Their long hair was cut from their 
necks, that the ax, with unobstructed edge, 
might do its work. Each one left some simple 
and affecting souvenir to friends. Gensonne 
picked up a lock of his black hair, and gave it 
to the Abbe Lambert to give to his wife. 
^' Tell her," said he, " that it is the only mem- 
orial of my love which I can transmit to her, 
and that my last thoughts in death were hers.'' 
Vergniaud drew from his pocket his watch, 
and, with his knife, scratched upon the case a 
few lines of tender remembrance, and sent the 
token to a young lady to whom he was devot- 
edly attached, and to whom he was ere long to 



212 MADAME BOLAND. 

have been married. Each, gave to the abbe 
some legacy of affection to be conveyed to loved 
ones who ere to be left behind. Few emo- 
tions are stronger in the hour of death than 
the desire to be embalmed in the affections of 
those who are dear to us. 

All being ready, the gens d'armes marched 
the condemned, in a column, into the prison 
yard, where five rude carts were awaiting them, 
to convey them to the scaffold. The countless 
thousands of Paris were swarming around the 
prison, filling the court, and rolling, like ocean 
tides, into every adjacent avenue. Each cart 
contained five persons, with the exception of the 
last, into which the dead body of Valaze had 
been cast with four of his living companions. 

And now came to the Girondists their hour 
of triumph. Heroism rose exultant over all ills. 
The brilliant sun and the elastic air of an Octo- 
ber morning invigorated their bodies, and the 
scene of sublimity through which they were 
passing stimulated their spirits to the highest 
pitch of enthusiasm. As the carts moved from 
the courtyard, with one simultaneous voice, 
clear and sonorous, the Girondists burst into 
the Marseillaise Hymn. The crowd gazed in 
silence as this funereal chant, not like the wail- 
ings of a dirge, but like the strains of an exult- 
ant song, swelled and died away upon the air. 
Here and there some friendly voice among the 



FATE OF THE GIRONDISTS. 213 

populace ventured to swell the volume of sound 
as the significant words were uttered, 

*' Centre nous de la tyrannie 

L'etendard sanglant est leve." 

" And tyranny has wide unfurl'd 

Her blood-stain'd banner in the sky." 

At the end of each verse their voices sank for 
a moment into silence. The strain was then 
again renewed, loud and sonorous. On arriv- 
ing at the scaffold, they all embraced in one 
long, last adieu. It was a token of their com- 
munion in death as in life. They then, in con- 
cert, loudly and firmly resumed their funereal 
chant. One ascended the scaffold, continuing 
the song with his companions. He was bound 
to the plank. Still his voice was heard full and 
strong. The plank slowly fell. Still his voice, 
without a tremor, joined in the triumphant 
chorus. The glittering ax glided like lightning 
down the groove. His head fell into the basket, 
and one voice was hushed forever. Another 
ascended, and another, and another, each with 
the song bursting loudly from his lips, till death 
ended the strain. There was no weakness. No 
step trembled, no cheek paled, no voice faltered. 
But each succeeding moment the song grew 
more faint as head after head fell, and the bleed- 
ing bodies were piled side by side. At last one 
voice alone continued the song. It was that 



214 MADAME EOLAND. 

of Yergniaud, the most illustrious of them all. 
Long confinement had spread deathly pallor 
over his intellectual features, but firm and 
dauntless, and with a voice of surpassing rich- 
ness, he continued the solo into which the chorus 
had now died away. Without the tremor of a 
nerve, he mounted the scaffold. For a moment 
he stood in silence, as he looked down upon the 
lifeless bodies of his friends, and around upon 
the overawed multitude gazing in silent admi- 
ration upon this heroic enthusiasm. As he then 
surrendered himself to the executioner, he com- 
menced anew the strain, 

" Aliens ! enfans de la patrie, 
Le jour de gloire est arrive." 

" Come ! children of your country, come I 
The day of glory dawns on high." 

In the midst of the exultant tones, the ax 
glided on its bloody mission, and those lips, 
which had guided the storm of revolution, and 
whose patriotic appeals had thrilled upon the 
ear of France, were silent in death. Thus 
perished the Girondists, the founders of the 
Eepublic and its victims. Their votes con- 
signed Louis and Maria to the guillotine, and 
they were the first to follow them. One cart 
conveyed the twenty-one bodies away, and they 
were thrown into one pit, by the side of the 
grave of Louis XVI. 



FATE OF THE GIKONDISTS. 215 

They committed many errors. Few minds 
could discern distinctly the path of truth and 
duty through the clouds and vapors of those 
stormy times. But they were most sincerely 
devoted to the liberties of France. They over- 
threw the monarchy^ and established the Ee- 
public. They died because they refused to open 
those sluice-ways of blood which the people de- 
manded. A few of the Girondists had made 
their escape. Petion, Buzot, Barbaroux^ and 
Gaudet wandered in disguise, and hid them- 
selves in the caves of wild and unfrequented 
mountains. La Fayette, who was one of the 
most noble and illustrious apostles of this creed, 
was saved from the guillotine by weary years 
of imprisonment in the dungeons of Olmutz. 
Madame Koland lingered in her cell, striving 
to maintain serenity, while her soul was tor- 
tured with the tidings of carnage and we which 
every morning^s dawn brought to her ears. 

The Jacobins were now more and more clam- 
orous for blood. They strove to tear La Fay- 
ette from his dungeon, that they might triumph 
in his death. They pursued, with implacable 
vigilance, the Girondists who had escaped from 
their fury. They trained blood-hounds to scent 
them out in their wild retreats, where they 
were suffering, from cold and starvation, all 
that human nature can possibly endure. For 
a, time, fiv§ of them lived together in a cavern^ 



MADAME ROLAND. 

thirty feet in depth. This cavern had a secret 
communication with the cellar of a house. 
Their generous hostess, periling her own life 
for them, daily supplied them with food. She 
could furnish them only with the most scanty 
fare, lest she should be betrayed by the pur- 
chase of provisions necessary for so many 
mouths. It was mid- winter. No fire warmed 
them in their damp and gloomy vault, and this 
living burial must have been worse than death. 
The search became so rigid that it was necessary 
for them to disperse. One directed his steps 
toward the Pyrenees. He was arrested and ex- 
ecuted. Three toiled along by night, through 
cold, and snow, and rain, the keen wind pierc- 
ing their tattered garments, till their sufferings 
made them reckless of life. They were ar- 
rested, and found, in the blade of the guillo- 
tine, a refuge from their woes. At last all were 
taken and executed but Petion and Buzot. 
Their fate is involved in mystery. None can 
tell what their sufferings were during the days 
and the nights of their weary wanderings, when 
no eye but that of G-od could see them. Some 
peasants found among the mountains, where 
they had taken refuge, human remains rent in 
pieces by the wolves. The tattered garments 
were scattered around where the teeth of the 
ferocious animals had left them. They were 
all that was left of the noble Petion and Buzot, 



FATE OF THE GIRONDISTS. 



217 



But how did they die ? "Worn out by suffering 
and abandoned to despair, did they fall by their 
own hands ? Did they perish from exposure 
to hunger and exhaustion, and the freezing 




Execution of a Royalist, 
blasts of winter ? Or, in their weakness, were 
they attacked by the famished wolves of the 
mountains ? The dying scene of Petion and 
Buzot is involved in impenetrable obscurity. 
Its tragic accompaniments can only be revealed 
when all mysteries shall be unfolded. 







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CHAPTER XL 

PRISOK LIFE. 

Madame Eolai^d remained for four months 
in the Abbaye prison. On the 24th day of her 
imprisonment, to her inexpressible astonish- 
ment, an officer entered her cell, and informed 
her that she was liberated, as no charge could 
be found against her. Hardly crediting her 
senses — fearing that she should wake up and 
find her freedom but the blissful delirium of a 
dream — she took a coach and hastened to her 
own door. Her eyes were full of tears of joy, 
and her heart almost bursting with the throb- 
bings of delight, in the anticipation of again 
pressing her idolized child to her bosom. Her 
hand was upon the door latch — she had not yet 
passed the threshold — when two men who had 
watched at the door of her dwelling, again 
seized her in the name of the law. In spite of 
her tears and supplications, they conveyed her 
to the prison of St. Pelagie. This loathsome 
receptacle of crime was filled with the aban- 
doned females who had been swept, in impurity 
and degradation, from the streets of Paris. It 
218 



PRISON LIFE. 219 

was, apparently, a studied humiliation, to com- 
pel their victim to associate with beings from 
whom her soul shrunk with loathing. She had 
resigned herself to die, but not to the society of 
infamy and pollution. 

The Jacobins, conscious of the illegality of 
her first arrest, and dreading her power, were 
anxious to secure her upon a more legal foot- 
ing. They adopted, therefore, this measure of 
liberating her and arresting her a second time. 
Even her firm and resigned spirit was for a 
moment vanquished by this cruel blow. Her 
blissful dream of happiness was so instantane- 
ously converted into the blackness of despair, 
that she buried her face in her hands, and, in 
the anguish of a bruised and broken heart, wept 
aloud. The struggle, though short, was very 
violent ere she regained her wonted composure. 
She soon, however, won the compassionate 
sympathy of her jailers, and was removed from 
this degrading companionship to a narrow cell, 
where she could enjoy the luxury of being alone. 
An humble bed was spread for her in one cor- 
ner, and a small table was placed near the few 
rays of light which stole feebly in through the 
iron grating of the inaccessible window. Sum- 
moning all her fortitude to her aid, she again 
resumed her usual occupations, allotting to each 
hour of the day its regular employment. She 
engaged vigorously in the study of the English 

16— Roland 



MADAME ROLAND. 

langnage, and passed some hours every day in 
drawing, of which accomplishment she was very 
fond. She had no patterns to copy ; but her 
imagination wandered through the green fields 
and by the murmuring brooks of her rural 
home. Now she roved with free footsteps 
through the vineyards which sprang up beneath 
her creative pencil. Now she floated upon the 
placid lake, reclining upon the bosom of her 
husband and caressing her child, beneath the 
tranquil sublimity of the evening sky. Again 
she sat down at the humble fireside of the peas- 
ant, ministering to the wants of the needy, and 
receiving the recompense of grateful hearts. 
Thus, on the free wing of imagination, she 
penetrated all scenes of beauty, and spread 
them out in vivid reality before her eye. At 
times she almost forgot that she was a captive. 
Well might she have exclaimed, in the lan- 
guage of Maria Antoinette, ^^ What a resource, 
amid the calamities of life, is a highly-culti- 
vated mind ! " 

A few devoted friends periled their own lives 
by gaining occasional access to her. During 
the dark hours of that reign of terror and of 
blood, no crime was more unpardonable than 
the manifestation of sympathy for the accused. 
These friends, calling as often as prudence 
would allow, brought to her presents of fruit 
and of flowers. At last the jailer's wife, una- 



PRISON LIFE. 221 

ble to resist the pleadings of her own heart for 
one whom she could not but love and admire, 
ventured to remove her to a more comfortable 
apartment, where the daylight shone brightly 
in through the iron bars of the window. Here 
she could see the clouds and the birds soaring 
in the free air. She was even allowed, through 
her friends, to procure a pianoforte, which af- 
forded her many hours of recreation. Music, 
drawing, and flowers were the embellishments 
of her life. Madame Bouchaud, the wife of 
the jailer, conceived for her prisoner the kind- 
est affection, and daily visited her, doing every- 
thing in her power to alleviate the bitterness of 
her imprisonment. At last her sympathies 
were so aroused, that, regardless of all pruden- 
tial considerations, she offered to aid her in 
making her escape. Madame Roland was deep- 
ly moved by this proof of devotion, and, though 
she was fully aware that she must soon place 
her head upon the scaffold, she firmly refused 
all entreaties to escape in any way which might 
endanger her friend. Others united with 
Madame Bouchaud in entreating her to accept 
of her generous offer. Their efforts were en- 
tirely unavailing. She preferred to die herself 
rather than to incur the possibility of exposing 
those who loved her to the guillotine. The 
kindness with which Madame Roland - was 
treated was soon spied out by those in power 



222 MADAME BOLAHD. 

The jailer was severely reprimanded, and or- 
dered immediately to remove the pianoforte 
from the room, and to confine Madame Eoland 
rigorously in her cell. This change did not 
disturb the equanimity of her spirit. She had 
studied so deeply and admired so profoundly 
all that was noble in the most illustrious char- 
acters of antiquity, that her mind instinctively 
assumed the same model. She found elevated 
enjoyment in triumphing over every earthly ill. 

An English lady, then residing in France, 
who had often visited her in the days of her 
power, when her home presented all that earth 
could give of splendor, and when wealth and 
rank were bowing obsequiously around her, 
thus describes a visit which she paid to her cell 
in these dark days of adversity. 

''I visited her in the prison of Saint Pelagic, 
where her soul, superior to circumstances, 
retained its accustomed serenity, and she con- 
versed with the same animated cheerfulness in 
her cheerless dungeon as she used to' do in the 
hotel of the minister. She had provided her- 
self with a few books, and I found her reading 
Plutarch. She told me that she expected to die, 
and the look of placid resignation with which 
she said it convinced me that she was prepared 
to meet death with a firmness worthy of her 
exalted character. When I inquired after her 
daughter, an only child of thirteen years of age. 



PRISON LIFE. 223 

she burst into tears ; and, at the overwhelming 
recollection of her husband and child, the cour- 
age of the victim of liberty was lost in the feel- 
ings of the wife and the mother/' 

The merciless commissioners had ordered her 
to be incarcerated in a cell which no beam of 
light could penetrate. But her compassionate 
keepers ventured to misunderstand the orders, 
and to place her in a room where a few rays of 
the morning sun could struggle through the 
grated windows, and where the light of day, 
though seen but dimly, might still, in some de- 
gree, cheer those eyes so soon to be closed for- 
ever. The soul, instinctively appreciative of 
beauty, will under the most adverse circum- 
stances, evoke congenial visions. Her friends 
brought her flowers, of which from childhood 
she had been most passionately fond. These 
cherished plants seemed to comprehend and re- 
quite unaffected love. At the iron window of 
her prison they appeared to grow with the joy 
and luxuriance of gratitude. With intertwin- 
ing leaf and blossom, they concealed the rusty 
bars, till they changed the aspect of the grated 
cell into a garden bower, where birds might 
nestle and sing, and poets might love to linger. 

When in the convent, she had formed a 
strong attachment for one of her companions, 
which the lapse of time had not diminished. 
Through all the vicissitudes of their lives they 



224 MADAME KOLAND. 

had kept up a constant correspondence. This 
friend, Henriette Cannet, one day obtained 
access to her prison, and, in the exercise of 
that romantic friendship of which this world 
can present but few parallels, urged Madame 
Roland to exchange garments with her, and 
thus escape from prison and the scaffold. " If 
you remain," said Henriette, *^ your death is 
inevitable. If I remain in your place, they 
will not take my life, but, after a short im- 
prisonment, I shall be liberated. None fear 
me, and I am too obscure to attract attention 
in these troubled times. I," she continued, 
"am a widow, and childless. There are no 
responsibilities which claim my time. You 
have a husband, advanced in years, and a lovely 
little child, both needing your utmost care." 
Thus she pleaded with her to exchange attire, 
and endeavor to escape. But neither prayers 
nor tears availed. " They would kill thee, my 
good Henriette ! '' exclaimed Madame Roland, 
embracing her friend with tears of emotion. 
"Thy blood would ever rest on me. Sooner 
would I suffer a thousand deaths than reproach 
myself with thine." Henriette, finding all her 
entreaties in vain, sadly bade her adieu, and 
was never permitted to see her more. 

Robespierre was now in the zenith of his 
power. He was the arbiter of life and of death. 
One word from him would restore Madame Ro- 



PRISON LIFE. 225 

land to liberty. But he had steeled his heart 
against every sentiment of humanity, and was 
not willing to deprive the guillotine of a single 
victim. One day Madame Roland was lying 
sick in the infirmary of the prison. A physi- 
cian attended her, who styled himself the friend 
of Eobespierre. The mention of his name 
recalled to her remembrance their early friend- 
ship, and her own exertions to save his life 
when it was in imminent peril. This suggested 
to her the idea of writing to him. She obeyed 
the impulse, and wrote as follows : 

" Robespierre ! I am about to put you to the 
proof, and to repeat to you what I said respect- 
ing your character to the friend who has under- 
taken to deliver this letter. You may be very 
sure that it is no suppliant who addresses you. 
I never asked a favor yet of any human being, 
and it is not from the depths of a prison I 
would supplicate him who could, if he pleased, 
restore me to liberty. No ! prayers and en- 
treaties belong to the guilty or to slaves. 
Neither would murmurs or complaints accord 
with my nature. I know how to bear all. I 
also well know that at the beginning of every 
republic the revolutions which affected them 
have invariably selected the principal actors in 
the change as their victims. It is their fate to 
experience this, as it becomes the task of the 
historian to avenge their memories. Still I 



MADAME EOLAND. 

am at a loss to imagine how I, a mere woman, 
should be exposed to the fury of a storm, 
ordinarily suffered to expend itself upon the 
great leaders of a revolution. You, Robes- 
pierre, were well acquainted with my husband, 
and I defy you to say that you ever thought 
him other than an honorable man. He had all 
the roughness of virtue, even as Oato possessed 
its asperity. Disgusted with business, irritated 
by persecution, weary of the world, and worn 
out with years and exertions, he desired only to 
bury himself and his troubles in some unknown 
spot, and to conceal himself there to save the 
age he lived in from the commission of a crime. 
" My pretended confederacy would be amus- 
ing, were it not too serious a matter for a jest. 
Whence, then, arises that degree of animosity 
manifested toward me ? I never injured a creat- 
ure in my life, and cannot find it in my heart to 
wish evil even to those who injure and oppress 
me. Brought up in solitude, my mind directed 
to serious studies, of simple tastes, an enthu- 
siastic admirer of the Revolution — excluded, 
by my sex, from participating in public affairs, 
yet taking delight in conversing of them — I 
despised the first calumnies circulated respect- 
ing me, attributing them to the envy felt by 
the ignorant and low-minded at what they were 
pleased to style my elevated position, but to 
which I infinitely preferred the peaceful ob- 



PRISON LiFiJ. ^^7 

scnrity in which I had passed so many happy 
days. 

'' Yet I have now been for five months the 
inhabitant of a prison, torn from my beloved 
child, whose innocent head may never more be 
pillowed upon a mother^s breast : far from all 
I hold dear ; the mark for the invectives of a 
mistaken people ; constrained to hear the very 
sentinels, as they keep watch beneath my win- 
dows, discussing the subject of my approaching 
execution, and outraged by reading the violent 
and disgusting diatribes poured forth against 
me by hirelings of the press, who have never 
once beheld me. I have wearied no one with 
requests, petitions, or demands. On the con- 
trary, I feel proudly equal to battle with my 
own ill fortune, and it may be to trample it 
under my feet. 

'' Robespierre ! I send not this softened pic- 
ture of my condition to excite your pity. No ! 
such a sentiment, expressed by you, would not 
only offend me, but be rejected as it deserves. 
I write for your edification. Fortune is fickle 
— popular favor equally so. Look at the fate 
of those who led on the revolutions of former 
ages — the idols of the people, and afterward 
their governors — from Vitellius to Cassar, or 
from Hippo, the orator of Syracuse, down to 
our Parisian speakers. Scylla and Marius pro- 
scribed thousands of knights and senators, be- 



228 MADAME ROLAND. 

sides a vast number of other unfortunate beings ; 
but were they enabled to j^revent history from 
handing down their names to the just execra- 
tion of posterity, and did they themselves enjoy 
happiness ? Whatever may be the fate awarded 
to me, I shall know how to submit to it in a 
manner worthy of myself, or to anticipate it 
should I deem it advisable. After receiving 
the honors of persecution, am I to expect the 
still greater one of martyrdom ? Speak ! It 
is something to know your fate, and a spirit 
such as mine can boldly face it, be it as it may. 
Should you bestow upon my letter a fair and 
impartial perusal, it will neither be useless to 
you nor to my country. But, under any cir- 
cumstances, this I say, Eobespierre — and you 
cannot deny the truth of my assertion — none 
who have ever known me can persecute me 
without a feeling of remorse.''' 

Madame Eoland preferred to die rather than 
to owe her life to the compassion of her ene- 
mies. Could she obtain a triumphant acquit- 
tal, through the force of her own integrity, she 
would greatly exult. But her imperial spirit 
would not stoop to the acceptance of a pardon 
from those who deserved the execrations of 
mankind ; such a pardon she would have torn 
in fragments, and have stepped resolutely upon 
the scaffold. 

There is something cold and chilling in the 



PRISON LIFE. 229 

supports which pride and philosophy alone 
can afford under the calamities of life. Madame 
Koland had met with Christianity only as it 
appeared in the pomp and parade of the Ca- 
tholic Church, and in the openly-dissolute lives 
of its ignorant or voluptuous priesthood. While 
her poetic temperament was moved by the 
sublime conception of a God ruling over the 
world of matter and the world of mind, revealed 
religion, as her spirit encountered it, consisted 
only in gorgeous pageants, and ridiculous dog- 
mas, and puerile traditions. The spirit of 
piety and pure devotion she could admire. 
Her natural temperament was serious, reflect- 
ive, and prayerful. Her mind, so far as reli- 
gion was concerned, was very much in the state 
of that of any intellectual, high-minded, un- 
corruptible Roman, who renounced, without 
opposing, the idolatry of the benighted mul- 
titude ; who groped painfully for some rev- 
elation of God and of truth ; who at times 
believed fully in a superintending providence, 
and again had fears whether there were any 
God -or any immortality. In the processions, 
the relics, the grotesque garb, and the spiritual 
terrors wielded by the Roman Catholic priest- 
hood, she could behold but barefaced decep- 
tion. The papal system appeared to her but 
as a colossal monster, oppressing the people 
with hideous superstition, and sustaining, with 



230 MADAME EOLAND. 

its superhuman energies, the corruption of the 
nobles and of the throne. In rejecting this 
system, she had no friend to conduct her to 
the warm, sheltered, and congenial retreats of 
evangelical piety. She was led almost inev- 
itably, by the philosophy of the times, to those 
chilling, barren, storm-swept heights, where 
the soul can find no shelter but in its own in- 
domitable energies of endurance. These en- 
ergies Madame Eoland displayed in such a 
degree as to give her a name among the very 
first of those in any age who by heroism have 
shed luster upon human nature. 

Under the influence of these feelings, she 
came to the conclusion that it would be more 
honorable for her to die by her own hand than 
to be dragged to the guillotine by her foes. She 
obtained some poison, and sat down calmly to 
write her last thoughts, and her last messages 
of love, before she should plunge into the deep 
mystery of the unknown. There is something 
exceedingly affecting in the vague and shadowy 
prayer which she offered on this occasion. It 
betrays a painful uncertainty whether there 
were any superintending Deity to hear her cry, 
and yet it was the soul^s instinctive breathings 
for a support higher and holier than could be 
found within itself. 

'*^ Divinity ! Supreme Being ! Spirit of the 
Universe ! great principle of all that I feel great. 



PRISOK LIFE. 281 

or good, or immortal within myself — whose ex- 
istence I believe in, because I must have ema- 
nated from something superior to that by which 
I am surrounded — I am about to reunite my- 
self to thy essence. " In her farewell note to 
her husband, she writes, " Forgive me my es- 
teemed and justly-honored husband, for taking 
upon myself to dispose of a life I had consecrat- 
ed to you. Believe me, I could have loved life 
and you better for your misfortunes, had I been 
permitted to share them with you. At present, 
by my death, you are only freed from a useless 
object of unavailing anguish. '^ 

All the fountains of a mother's love gush 
forth as she writes to her idolized Eudora : 
" Pardon me, my beloved child, my sweet 
daughter, whose gentle image dwells within my 
heart, and whose very remembrance shakes 
my sternest resolution. Never would your fond 
mother have left you helpless in the world, 
could she but have remained to guide and 
guard you.'' 

Then, apostrophizing her friends, she ex- 
claims, "And you, my cherished friends, trans- 
fer to my motherless child the affection you have 
ever manifested for me. Grieve not at a reso- 
lution which ends my many and severe trials. 
You know me too well to believe that weakness 
or terror have instigated the step I am about to 
take." 



282 MADAME BOLAND. 

She made her will, bequeathing such trifling 
sonyenirs of affection as still remained in her 
possession to her daughter, her friends, and her 
servants. She then reverted to all she had loved 
and admired of the beauties of nature, and 
which she was now to leave forever. " Fare- 
well l^' she wrote, '^ farewell, glorious sun ! 
that never failed to gild my windows with thy 
golden rays, ere thou hiddest thy brightness in 
the heavens. Adieu, ye lonely banks of the 
Saone, whose wild beauty could fill my heart 
with such deep delight. And you too, poor 
but honest people of Thizy, whose labors I 
lightened, whose distress I relieved, and whose 
sick beds I tended — farewell ! Adieu, oh ! 
peaceful chambers of my childhood, where I 
learned to love virtue and truth — where my im- 
agination found in books and study the food to 
delight it, and where I learned in silence to 
command my passions and to despise my vanity. 
Again farewell, my child ! Eemember your 
mother. Doubtless your fate will bo less severe 
than hers. Adieu, beloved child ! whom I 
nourished at my breast, and earnestly desired to 
imbue with every feeling and opinion I myself 
entertained." 

The cup of poison was in her hand. In her 
heart there was no consciousness that she should 
violate the command of any higher power by 
drinking it. But love for her child triumphed. 



PRISON LIFE. 233 

The smile of Eudora rose before her, and for 
her sake she clung to life. She threw away the 
poison, resolved never again to think of a volun- 
tary withdrawal from the cares and sorrows of 
her earthly lot, but with unwavering fortitude 
to surrender herself to those influences over 
which she could no longer exert any control. 
This brief conflict ended, she resumed her 
wonted composure and cheerfulness. 

Tacitus was now her favorite author. Hours 
and days she passed in studying his glowing de- 
scriptions of heroic character and deeds. He- 
roism became her religion ; magnanimity and 
fortitude the idols of her soul. With a glisten- 
ing eye and a bosom throbbing with lofty emo- 
tion, she meditated upon his graphic paintings 
of the martyrdom of patriots and philosophers, 
where the soul, by its inherent energies, tri- 
umphed over obloquy, and pain, and death. 
Anticipating that each day might conduct her 
to the scaffold, she led her spirit through all the 
possible particulars of the tragic drama, that 
she might become familiar with terror, and look 
upon the block and the ax with an undaunted 
eye. 

Many hours of every day she beguiled in 
writing the memoirs of her own life. It was 
an eloquent and a touching narrative, written 
with the expectation that each sentence might 
be interrupted by the eatrance of the execu- 

17-Kolan(^ 



234 MADAME EOLAND. 

tioners to conduct her to trial and to the guil- 
lotine. In this unveiling of the heart to the 
world, one sees a noble nature, generous and 
strong, animated to benevolence by native gen- 
erosity, and nerved to resignation by fatalism. 
The consciousness of spiritual elevation consti- 
tuted her only religion and her only solace. 
The anticipation of a lofty reputation after 
death was her only heaven. The Christian 
must pity while he must admire. No one can 
read the thoughts she penned but with the 
deepest emotion. 

Now her mind wanders to the hours of her 
precocious and dreamy childhood, and lingers 
in her little chamber, gazing upon the golden 
sunset, and her eye is bathed in tears as she re- 
flects upon her early home, desolated by death, 
and still more desolated by that unhonored 
union which the infidelity of the times tolerated, 
when one took the position of the wife unblessed 
by the sanction of Heaven. Again her spirit 
wings its flight through the gloomy bars of the 
prison to the beautiful rural home to which 
her bridal introduced her, where she spent her 
happiest years, and she forgets the iron, and 
the stone, and the dungeon-glooms which sur- 
round her, as in imagination she walks again 
among her flowers and through the green 
fields, and, at the vintage, eats the rich, ripe 
clusters of the grape. Her pleasant household 



cares, her dairy, the domestic fowls recognizing 
her voice, and fed from her own hand ; her 
library and her congenial intellectual pur- 
suits rise before her, an en trancing vision, and 
she mourns, like Eve, the loss of Eden. The 
days of celebrity and of power engross her 
thoughts. Her husband is again minister of 
the king. The most influential statesmen and 
brilliant orators are gathered around her chair. 
Her mind is guiding the surging billows of 
the Revolution, and influencing the decisions of 
the proudest thrones of Europe. 

The slightest movement dispels the illusion. 
From dreams she awakes to reality. She is a 
prisoner in a gloomy cell of stone and iron, 
from which there is no possible extrication. A 
bloody death awaits her. Her husband is a 
fugitive, pursued by human blood-hounds more 
merciless than the brute. Her daughter, the 
object of her most idolatrous love, is left father- 
less and motherless in this cold world. The 
guillotine has already consigned many of those 
whom she loved best to the grave. But a few 
more days of sorrow can dimly struggle through 
her prison windows ere she must be conducted 
to the scaffold. Woman^s nature triumphs over 
philosophic fortitude, and she finds momentary 
relief in a flood of tears. 

The Grirondists were led from their dungeons 
in the Conciergerie to their execution on the 



236 MADAME BOLAND. 

31st of October, 1793. Upon that very day 
Madame Koland was conveyed from the prison 
of St. Pelagic to the same gloomy cells vacated 
by the death of her friends. She was cast into 
a bare and miserable dungeon, in that subter- 
ranean receptacle of woe, where there was not 
even a bed. Another prisoner, moved with 
compassion, drew his own pallet into her cell, 
that she might not be compelled to throw her- 
self for repose upon the cold, wet stones. The 
chill air of winter had now come, and yet no 
covering was allowed her. Through the long 
night she shivered with the cold. 

The prison of the Conciergerie consists of a 
series of dark and damp subterranean vaults 
situated beneath the floor of the Palace of Jus- 
tice. Imagination can conceive of nothing 
more dismal than these somber caverns, with 
long and winding galleries opening into cells as 
dark as the tomb. You descend by a flight of 
massive stone steps into this sepulchral abode, 
and, passing through double doors, whose iron 
strength time has deformed but not weakened, 
you enter upon the vast labyrinthine prison, 
where the imagination wanders affrighted 
through intricate mazes of halls, and arches, 
and vaults, and dungeons, rendered only more 
appalling by the dim light which struggles 
through those grated orifices which pierced the 
massive walls. The Seine flows by upon one 



PRISON LIFE. 237 

side, separated only by the high way of the 
quays. The bed of the Seine is above the floor 
of the prison. The surrounding earth was 
consequently saturated with water and the ooz- 
ing moisture diffused over the walls and the 
floors the humidity of the sepulcher. The 
plash of the river ; the rumbling of carts upon 
the pavements overhead ; the heavy tramp of 
countless footfalls, as the multitude poured 
into and out of the halls of justice, mingled 
with the moaning of the prisoners in those soli- 
tary cells. There were one or two narrow 
courts scattered in this vast structure, where 
the prisoners could look up the precipitous 
walls, as of a well, towering high above them, 
and see a few square yards of sky. The gigan- 
tic quadrangular tower, reared above these firm 
foundations, was formerly the imperial pal- 
ace from which issued all power and law. Here 
the French kings reveled in voluptuousness, 
with their prisoners groaning beneath their feet. 
This stronghold of feudalism had now become 
the tomb of the monarchy. In one of the most 
loathsome of these cells, Maria Antoinette, the 
daughter of the Caesars, had languished in mis- 
ery as profound as mortals can suffer, till, in 
the endurance of every conceivable insult, she 
was dragged to the guillotine. 

It was into a cell adjoining that which the 
hapless queen had occupied that Madame Bo- 



MADAME ROLAND. 



land was cast. Here the proud daughter of the 
emperors of Austria and the humble child of 
the artisan, each, after a career of unexampled 
vicissitudes, found their paths to meet but a 
few steps from the scaffold. The victim of the 
monarchy and the victim of the Eevolution 
were conducted to the same dungeons and per- 
ished on the same block. 




The Conciergerie. 




CHAPTEE XII. 



TRIAL AKD EXECUTION?" OF MADAME ROLAND. 



The day after Madame Eoland was placed 
in the Conciergerie;, she was visited by one of 
the notorious officers of the revolutionary 
party, and very closely questioned concerning 
the friendship she had entertained for the 
Girondists. She frankly avowed the elevated 
affection and esteem with which she cherished 
their memory, but she declared that she and 
they were the cordial friends of republican lib- 
erty ; that they wished to preserve, not to 
destroy, the Constitution. The examination 
was vexatious and intolerant in the extreme. It 
lasted for the three hours, and consisted in an 
incessant torrent of criminations, to which she 
was hardly permitted to offer one word in re- 
ply. This examination taught her the nature 
of the accusations which would be brought 
against her. She sat down in her cell that 
very night, and, with a rapid pen, sketched 
that defense which has been pronounced one 
of the most eloquent and touching monuments 
of the Eevolution. It so beautifully illustrates 

239 



24:0 MADAME ROLAND. 

the heroism of her character, the serenity of her 
spirit, and the beauty and energy of her men- 
tal operations, that it will ever be read with 
the liveliest interest. 

" I am accused," she writes, '^ of being the 
accomplice of men called conspirators. My 
intimacy with a few of these gentleman is of 
much older date than the occurrences in con- 
sequence of which they are now deemed rebels. 
Our correspondence, since they left Paris, has 
been entirely foreign to public affairs. Prop- 
erly speaking, I have been engaged in no polit- 
ical correspondence whatever, and in that re- 
spect I might confine myself to a simple denial. 
I certainly cannot be called upon to give an 
account of my particular affections. I have, 
however, the right to be proud of these friend- 
ships. I glory in them. I wish to conceal 
nothing. I acknowledge that, with expressions 
of regret at my confinement, I received an in- 
timation that Duperret had two letters for me, 
whether written by one or by two of my friends, 
before or after their leaving Paris, I cannot say, 
Duperret had delivered them into other hands, 
and they never came to mine. Another time I 
received a pressing invitation to break my chains, 
and an offer of services, to assist me in effect- 
ing my escape in any way I might think proper, 
and to convey me whithersoever I might after- 
ward wish to go, I was dissuaded from listen- 



TRIAL AND EXECUTION. 241 

ing to such proposals by duty and by honor : 
by duty, that I might not endanger the safety 
of those to whose care I was confided ; and by 
honor, because I preferred the risk of an un- 
just trial to exposing myself to the suspicion 
of guilt by a flight unworthy of me. When I 
consented to my arrest, it was not with the in- 
tention of afterward making my escape. With- 
out doubt, if all means of communication had 
not been cut off, or if I had not been prevented 
by confinement, I should have endeavored to 
learn what had become of my friends. I know 
of no law by which my doing so is forbidden. 
In what age or in what nation was it ever con- 1 
sidered a crime to be faithful i^to those senti-l 
ments of esteem and brotherly affection whichj 
bind man to man ? 

" I do not pretend to Judge of the measures 
of those who have been proscribed, but I will 
never believe in the evil intentions of men of 
whose probity and patriotism I am thoroughly 
convinced. If they erred, it was unintention- 
ally. They fall without being abased, and I 
regard them as being unfortunate without being 
liable to blame. I am perfectly easy as to their 
glory, and willingly consent to participate in 
the honor of being oppressed by their enemies. 
They are accused of having conspired against 
their country, but I know that they were firm 
friends of the Eepublic. They were, however. 



24:2 MADAME ROLAND. 

humane men, and were persuaded that good 
laws were necessary to procure the Kepublic the 
good will of persons who doubted whether the 
Kepublic could be maintained. It is more diffi- 
cult to conciliate than to kill. The history of 
every age proves that it requires great talents 
to lead men to virtue by wise institutions, while 
force suffices to oppress them by terror, or to 
annihilate them by death. I have often heard 
them assert that abundance, as well as happi- 
ness, can only proceed from an equitable, pro- 
tecting, and beneficent government. The om- 
nipotence of the bayonet may produce fear, but 
not bread. I have seen them animated by the 
most lively enthusiasm for the good of the 
people, disdaining to flatter them, and resolved 
rather to fall victims to their delusion than to 
be the means of keeping it up. I confess that 
these principles and this conduct appeared to 
me totally different from the sentiments and 
proceedings of tyrants, or ambitious men, who 
seek to please the people to affect their subju- 
gation. It inspired me with the highest es- 
teem for those generous men. This error, if 
error it be, will accompany me to the grave, 
whither I shall be proud to follow those whom 
I was not permitted to accompany. 

*' My defense is more important for those who 
wish for the truth than it is for myself. Calm 
and contented in the consciousness of having 



TEIAL AND EXECUTION. 243 

done my duty, I look forward to futurity with 
perfect peace of mind. My serious turn and 
studious habits have preserved me alike from 
the follies of dissipation and from the bustle of 
intrigue. A friend of liberty, on which reflec- 
tion had taught me to set a just value, I beheld 
the Revolution with delight, persuaded it was 
destined to put an end to the arbitrary power I 
detested, and to the abuses I had so often la- 
mented, when reflecting with pity upon the in- 
digent classes of society. I took an interest in 
the progress of the Eevolution, and spoke with 
warmth of public affairs, but I did not pass the 
bounds prescribed by my sex. Some small tal- 
ents, a considerable share of philosophy, a de- 
gree of courage more uncommon, and which 
did not permit me to weaken my husband's en- 
ergy in dangerous times — such, perhaps, are the 
qualities which those who know me may have 
indiscreetly extolled, and which may have made 
me enemies among those to whom I am unknown. 
M. Roland sometimes employed me as a secre- 
tary, and the famous letter to the king, for in- 
stance, is copied entirely in my handwriting. 
This would be an excellent item to add to my 
indictment, if the Austrians were trying me, 
and if they should have thought fit to extend a 
minister's responsibility to his wife. But M. 
Roland long ago manifested his knowledge of, 
and his attachment to, the great principles of 



24A MADAME ROLAND. 

political economy. The proof is to be found in 
his numerous works published during the last 
fifteen years. His learning and his probity are 
all his own. He stood in no need of a wife to 
make him an able minister. Never were secret 
councils held at his house. His colleagues and 
a few friends met once a week at his table, and 
there conversed, in a public manner, on matters 
in which every body was concerned. His writ- 
ings, which breathe throughout a love of order 
and peace, and which enforce the best principles 
of public prosperity and morals, will forever 
attest his wisdom. His accounts prove his in- 
tegrity. 

*' As to the offense imputed to me, I observe 
that I never was intimate with Duperret. I 
saw him occasionally at the time of M. Eoland's 
administration. He never came to our house 
during the six months that my husband was no 
longer in office. The same remark will apply 
to other members, our friends, which surely 
does not accord with tho plots and conspiracies 
laid to our charge. It is evident, by my first 
letter to Duperret, I only wrote to him because 
I knew not to whom else to address myself, and 
because I imagined he would readily consent to 
oblige me. My correspondence with him could 
not, then, be concerted. It could not be the 
consequence of any previous intimacy, and 
could have only one object in view. It gave 



THiAL AND EXECUTION. 245 

me afterward an opportunity of receiving ac- 
counts from those who had just absented them- 
selves, and with whom I was connected by the 
ties of friendship, independently of all political 
considerations. The latter were totally out of 
the question in the kind of correspondence I 
kept up with them during the early part of their 
absence. Xo written memorial bears witness 
against me in that respect. Those adduced 
only lead to the belief that I partook of the 
opinions and sentiments of the persons called 
conspirators. This deduction is well founded. 
I confess it without reserve. I am proud of 
the conformity. But I never manifested my 
opinion in a way which can be construed into 
a crime, or which tended to occasion any dis- 
turbance. Now, to become an accomplice in 
any plan whatever, it is necessary to give 
advice, or to furnish means of execution. I 
have done neither. There is no law to con- 
demn me. 

*' I know that, in revolutions, law as well as 
justice is often forgotten, and the proof of it is 
that I am here. I owe my trial to nothing but 
the prejudices and violent animosities which 
arise in times of great agitation, and which are 
generally directed against those who have been 
placed in conspicuous situations, or are known 
to possess any energy or spirit. It would have 
been easy for my courage to put me out of the 



246 MADAME ROLAGB. 

reach of the sentence which I foresaw would 
be pronounced against me. But I thought it 
rather became me to undergo that sentence. I 
thought that I owed the example to my coun- 
try. I thought that if I were to be condemned, 
it must be right to leave to tyranny all the odi- 
um of sacrificing a woman, whose crime is that 
of possessing some small talent, which she never 
misapplied, a zealous desire to promote the wel- 
fare of mankind, and courage enough to ac- 
knowledge her friends when in misfortune, and 
to do homage to virtue at the risk of life. 
Minds which have any claim to greatness are 
capable of divesting themselves of selfish con- 
siderations. They feel that they belong to the 
whole human race. Their views are directed to 
posterity. I am the wife of a virtuous man ex- 
posed to persecution. I was the friend of men 
who have been proscribed and immolated by 
delusion, and the hatred of jealous mediocrity. 
It is necessary that I should perish in my turn, 
because it is a rule with tyranny to sacrifice 
those whom it has grievously oppressed, and to 
annihilate the very witnesses of its misdeeds. 
I have this double claim to death at your hands, 
and 1 expect it. When innocence walks to the 
scaffold at the command of error and perversity, 
every step she takes is an advance toward 
glory. May I be the last victim sacrificed to the 
furious spirit of party. I shall leave with joy 



TRIAL AND EXECUTION. 247 

this unfortunate earth, which swallows up the 
friends of virtue and drinks the blood of the 
just. 

^' Truth ! friendship ! my country ! sacred 
objects, sentiments dear to my heart, accept 
my last sacrifice. My life was devoted to 
you, and you will render my death easy and 
glorious. 

*^ Just Heaven ! enlighten this unfortunate 
people for whom I desired liberty. Liberty ! it 
is for noble minds, who despise death, and who 
know how, upon occasion, to give it to them- 
selves. It is not for weak beings, who enter 
into a composition with guilt, and cover selfish- 
ness and cowardice with the name of prudence. 
It is not for corrupt wretches, who rise from 
the bed of debauchery, or from the mire of indi- 
gence, to feast their eyes upon the blood that 
streams from the scaffold. It is the portion of 
a people who delight in humanity, practise 
justice, despise their flatterers, and respect the 
truth. While you are not such a people, my 
fellow-citizens ! you will talk in vain of liberty. 
Instead of liberty you will have licentious- 
ness, to which you will all fall victims in 
your turn. You will ask for bread ; dead 
bodies will be given you, and you at last will 
bow down your own necks to the yoke. 

'' I have neither concealed my sentiments nor 
my opinions. I know that a Roman lady was 



248 MADAME ROLAND. 

sent to the scaffold for lamenting the death of 
her son. I know that, in times of delusion and 
party rage, he who dares avow himself the 
friend of the condemned or of the proscribed 
exposes himself to their fate. But I have no 
fear of death. I never feared anything but 
guilt, and I will not purchase life at the expense 
of a base subterfuge. Wo to the times ! wo 
to the people among whom doing homage to 
disregarded truth can be attended with danger ; 
and happy is he who, in such circumstances, is 
bold enoagh to brave it. 

*^ It is now your part to see whether it an- 
swer your purpose to condemn me without proof 
upon mere matter of opinion, and without the 
support or justification of any law.'^ 

Having concluded this magnanimous defense, 
which she wrote in one evening with the rapid- 
ity which characterized all her mental opera- 
tions, she retired to rest, and slept with the se- 
renity of a child. She was called upon several 
times by committees sent from the revolution- 
ary tribunal for examination. They were re- 
solved to take her life, but were anxious to do 
it, if possible, under the forms of law. She 
passed through all their examinations with the 
most perfect composure and the most dignified 
self-possession. Her enemies could not with- 
hold their expressions of admiration as they saw 
her in her sepulchral cell of stone and of iron, 



TKIAL AND EXECUTION. 249 

cheerful, fascinating, and perfectly at ease. 
She knew that she was to be led from that cell 
to a violent death, and yet no faltering of soul 
could be detected. Her spirit had apparently 
achieved a perfect victory over all earthly 
ills. 

The upper part of the door of her cell was an 
iron grating. The surrounding cells were filled 
with the most illustrious ladies and gentlemen 
of France. As the hour of death drew near, 
her courage and animation seemed to increase. 
Her features glowed with enthusiasm ; her 
thoughts and expressions were refulgent with 
sublimity, and her whole aspect assumed the 
impress of one appointed to fill some great and 
lofty destiny. She remained but a few days in 
the Conciergerie before she was led to the scaf- 
fold. During those few days, by her example 
and her encouraging words, she spread among 
the numerous prisoners there an enthusiasm and 
a spirit of heroism which elevated, above the 
fear of the scaffold, even the most timid and de- 
pressed. This glow of feeling and exhilaration 
gave a new impress of sweetness and fascina- 
tion to her beauty. The length of her captiv- 
ity, the calmness with which she contemplated 
the certain approach of death, gave to her voice 
that depth of tone and slight tremulousness of 
utterance which sent her eloquent words home 
with thrilling power to every heart. Those 

IS-Roland 



250 MADAME ROLAND. 

who were walking in the corridor, or who were 
the occupants of adjoining cells, often called 
for her to speak to them words of encourage- 
ment and consolation. 

Standing upon a stool at the door of her own 
cell, she grasped with her hands the iron grat- 
ing which separated her from her audience. 
This was her tribune. The melodious accents 
of her voice floated along the labyrinthine ave- 
nues of those dismal dungeons, penetrating cell 
after cell, and arousing energy in hearts which 
had been abandoned to despair. It was, indeed, 
a strange scene which was thus witnessed in 
these sepulchral caverns. The silence, as of 
the grave, reigned there, while the clear and 
musical tones of Madame Eoland, as of an an- 
gel of consolation, vibrated through the rusty 
bars, and along the dark, damp cloisters. One 
who was at that time an inmate of the prison, 
and survived those dreadful scenes, has de- 
scribed, in glowing terms, the almost miraculous 
effects of her soul-moving eloquence. She was 
already past the prime of life, but she was still 
fascinating. Combined with the most wonder- 
ful power of expression, she possessed a voice 
so exquisitely musical, that, long after her lips 
were silenced in death, its tones vibrated in lin- 
gering strains in the souls of those by whom 
they had ever been heard. The prisoners lis- 
tened with the most profound attention to her 



TEIAL AND EXECUTION. 261 

glowing words, and regarded her almost as a 
celestial spirit, who had come to animate them 
to heroic deeds. She often spoke of the Girond- 
ists who had already perished upon the guillo- 
tine. With perfect fearlessness she avowed her 
friendship for them, and ever spoke of them as 
our friends. She, however, was careful never 
to utter a word which would bring tears into 
the eye. She wished to avoid herself all the 
weakness of tender emotions, and to lure the 
thoughts of her companions away from every 
contemplation which could enervate their en- 
ergies. 

Occasionally, in the solitude of her cell, as 
the image of her husband and of her child rose 
before her, and her imagination dwelt upon her 
desolated home and her blighted hopes — her 
husband denounced and pursued by lawless vio- 
lence, and her child soon to be an orphan — 
woman's tenderness would triumph over the 
heroine's stoicism. Burying, for a moment, her 
face in her hands, she would burst into a flood 
of tears. Immediately struggling to regain 
composure, she would brush her tears away, 
and dress her countenance in its accustomed 
smiles. She remained in the Oonciergerie but 
one week, and during that time so endeared 
herself to all as to become the prominent object 
of attention and love. Her case is one of the 
most extraordinary the history of the world has 



252 MADAME ROLAND. 

presented, in which the very highest degree of 
heroism is combined with the most resistless 
charms of feminine loveliness. An unf eminine 
woman can nevej be loved by rnern Sher may 
^"^^^he'respfgcted for her talents, she may be honored 
for her philanthropy, but she cannot win the 
warmer emotions of the heart. But Madame 
Koland, with an energy of will, an inflexibility 
of purpose, a firmness of stoical endurance 
which no mortal man has ever exceeded, com- 
bined that gentleness, and tenderness, and af- 
fection — that instinctive sense of the proprieties 
of her sex — which gathered around her a love 
as pure and as enthusiastic as woman ever ex- 
cited. And while her friends, many of whom 
were the most illustrious men in France, had 
enthroned her as an idol in their hearts, the 
breath of slander never ventured to intimate 
that she was guilty even of an impropriety. 

The day before her trial, her advocate, Chau- 
veau de la Garde, visited her to consult respect- 
ing her defense. She, well aware that no one 
could speak a word in her favor but at the peril 
of his own life, and also fully conscious that her 
doom was already sealed, drew a ring from her 
finger, and said to him, 

" To-morrow I shall be no more. I know 
the fate which awaits me. Your kind assist- 
ance can not avail aught for me, and would but 
endanger you. I pray you, therefore, not to 



TBIAL A-ND EXECUTION. 253 

come to the tribunal, but to accept of this last 
testimony of my regard/' 

The next day she was led to her trial. She 
attired herself in a white robe, as a symbol of 
her innocence, and her long dark hair fell in 
thick curls on her neck and shoulders. She 
emerged from her dungeon a vision of unusual 
loveliness. The prisoners who were walking in 
the corridors gathered around her, and with 
smiles and words of encouragement she infused 
energy into their hearts. Calm and invincible 
she met her judges. She was accused of the 
crimes of being the wife of M. Roland and the 
friend of his friends. Proudly she acknowl- 
edged herself guilty of both those charges. 
Whenever she attempted to utter a word in her 
defense, she was brow-beaten by the judges, 
and silenced by the clamors of the mob which 
filled the tribunal. The mob now ruled with un- 
disputed sway in both legislative and executive 
halls. The serenity of her eye was untroubled, 
and the composure of her disciplined spirit un- 
moved, save by the exaltation of enthusiasm, 
as she noted the progress of the trial, which was 
bearing her rapidly and resistlessly to the scaf- 
fold. It was, however, difficult to bring any 
accusation against her by which, under the 
form of law, she could be condemned. France, 
even in its darkest hour, was rather ashamed 
to behead a woman, upon whom the eyes of all 



^54 MADAME ROLAND. 

Europe were fixed, simply for being the wife 
ofher Jiusband and the friend of his friends. 
At last the president demanded of her that 
she should reveal her husband's asylum. She 
proudly replied, 

*^' I do not know of any law by which I can 
be obliged to violate the strongest feelings of 
nature." This was sufficient, and she was im- 
mediately condemned. Her sentence was thus 
expressed : 

'^ The public accuser has drawn up the pres- 
ent indictment against Jane Mary Phlippon, 
the wife of Koland, late Minister of the Interior, 
for having wickedly and designedly aided and 
assisted in the conspiracy which existed against 
the unity and indivisibility of the Eepublic, 
against the liberty and safety of the French peo- 
ple, by assembling, at her house, in secret coun- 
cil, the principal chiefs of that conspiracy, and 
by keeping up a correspondence tending to 
facilitate their treasonable designs. The tribu- 
nal, having heard the public accuser deliver his 
reasons concerning the application of the law, 
condemns Jane Mary Phlippon, wife of Eoland, 
to the punishment of death."' 

She listened calmly to her sentence, and 
then, rising, bowed with dignity to her judges, 
and, smiling, said, 

'^ I thank you, gentlemen, for thinking me 
worthy of sharing the fate of the great men 



TRIAL AND EXECUTION. 255 

whom you have assassinated. I shall endeavor 
to imitate their firmness on the scaffold/' 

With the buoyant step of a child, and with a 
rapidity which almost betokened joy, she passed 
beneath the narrow portal, and descended to her 
cell, from which she was to be led, with the 
morning light, to a bloody death. The prison- 
ers had assembled to greet her on her return, and 
anxiously gathered around her. She looked 
upon them with a smile of perfect tranquil- 
lity, and, drawing her hand across her neck, 
made a sign expressive of her doom. But a 
few hours elapsed between her sentence and her 
execution. She retired to her cell, wrote a few 
words of parting to her friends, played, upon a 
harp which had found its way into the prison, 
her requiem, in tones so wild and mournful 
that, floating in the dark hours of the night, 
through those sepulchral caverns, they fell like 
unearthly music upon the despairing souls there 
incarcerated. 

The morning of the 10th of November, 1793, 
dawned gloomily upon Paris. It was one of 
the darkest days of that reign of terror which, 
for so long a period, enveloped France in its 
somber shades. The ponderous gates of the 
courtyard of the Conciergerie opened that morn- 
ing to a long procession of carts loaded with vic- 
tims for the guillotine. Madame Eoland had 
contemplated her fate too long, and had disci- 



256 MADAME ROLAND. 

plined her spirit too severely, to fail of fortitude 
in this last hour of trial. She came from her 
cell scrupulously attired for the bridal of death. 
A serene smile was upon her cheek, and the 
glow of joyous animation lighted up her feat- 
ures as she waved an adieu to the weeping pris- 
oners who gathered around her. The last cart 
was assigned to Madame Koland. She entered 
it with a step as light and elastic as if it were 
a carriage for a pleasant morning's drive. By 
her side stood an infirm old man, M. La Marche. 
He was pale and trembling, and his fainting 
heart, in view of the approaching terror, almost 
ceased to beat. She sustained him by her arm, 
and addressed to him words of consolation and 
encouragement, in cheerful accents and with a 
benignant smile. The poor old man felt that 
God had sent an angel to strengthen him in the 
dark hour of death. As the cart heavily rum- 
bled along the pavement, drawing nearer and 
nearer to the gnillotine, two or three times, by 
her cheerful words, she even caused a smile 
faintly to play upon his pallid lips. 

The guillotine was now the principal instru- 
ment of amusement for the populace of Paris. 
It was so elevated that all could have a good 
view of the spectacle it presented. To witness 
the conduct of nobles and of ladies, of boys and 
of girls, while passing through the horrors of a 
sanguinary death, was far more exciting than 



TRIAL AND EXECUTION. 257 

the unreal and bombastia tragedies of the thea- 
ter, or the conflicts of the cock-pit and the bear 
garden. A countless throng flooded the streets, 
men, women, and children, shouting, laughing, 
execrating. The celebrity of Madame Roland, 
her extraordinary grace and beauty, and her 
aspect, not only of heroic fearlessness, but of 
joyous exhilaration, made her the prominent 
object of the public gaze. A white robe grace- 
fully enveloped her perfect form, and her black 
and glossy hair, which for some reason the exe- 
cutioners had neglected to cut, fell in rich pro- 
fusion to her waist. A keen November blast 
swept the streets, under the influence of which, 
and the excitement of the scene, her animated 
countenance glowed with all the ruddy bloom 
of youth. She stood firmly in the cart, looking 
with a serene eye upon the crowds which lined 
the streets, and listening with unruffled seren- 
ity to the clamor which filled the air. A large 
crowd surrounded the cart in which Madame 
Roland stood, shouting, '^ To the guillotine ! to 
the guillotine ! '" She looked kindly upon them, 
and, bending over the railing of the cart, said 
to them, in tones as placid as if she were ad- 
dressing her own child, ^' My friends, I a7n going 
to the guillotine. In a few moments I shall be 
there. They who send me thither will erelong 
follow me, I go innocent. They will come 
stained with blood. You who now applaud 
^7 



258 1VIADA3IE ROLAND. 

our execution will then applaud theirs with equa) 



Madame Roland had continued writing her 
memoirs until the hour in which she left her 
cell for the scaffold. When the cart had almost 
arrived at the foot of the guillotine, her spirit 
was so deeply moved by the tragic scene — such 
emotions came rushing in upon her soul from 
departing time and opening eternity, that she 
could not repress the desire to pen down her 
glowing thoughts. She entreated an officer to 
furnish her for a moment with pen and paper. 
The request was refused. It is much to be re- 
gretted that we are thus deprived of that un- 
written chr^pter of her life. It cannot be doubt- 
ed that tlie words she would then have written 
would have long vibrated upon the ear of a lis- 
tening world. Soul-utterances will force their 
way over mountains, and valleys and oceans. 
Despotism cannot arrest them. Time cannot 
enfeeble them. 

The long procession arrived at the guillotine, 
and the bloody work commenced. The victims 
were dragged from the carts, and the ax rose 
and fell with unceasing rapidity. Head after 
head fell into the basket, and the pile of bleed- 
ing trunks rapidly increased in size. The ex- 
ecutioners approached the cart where Madame 
Roland stood by the side of her fainting com- 
panion. With an animated countenance and £ 



TRIAL AKD EXECUTION. 259 

cheerful smile, she was all engrossed in endeavor- 
ing to infuse fortitude into his soul. The exe- 
cutioner grasped her by the arm. " Stay," said 
she, slightly resisting his grasp ; " I have one 
favor to ask, and that is not for myself. I be- 
seech you grant it me.^' Then turning to the 
old man, she said, ''Do you precede me to the 
scaffold. To see my blood flow would make you 
suffer the bitterness of death twice over. I must 
spare you the painof witnessing my execution.*' 
The stern officer gave a surly refusal, replying, 
" My orders are to take you first. ■'■' With Ihi^t 
winning smile and that fascinating grace which 
were almost resistless, she rejoined, '' You can- 
not, surely, refuse a woman her last request. '' 
The hard-hearted executor of the ]aw was 
brought within the influence of her enchant- 
ment. He paused, looked at her for a moment 
in slight bewilderment, and yielded. The poor 
old mr-n, more dead than alive, was conducted 
upon the scaffold and placed beneath the fatal 
ax. Madame Roland, without the slightest 
change of color, or the apparent tremor of a 
nerve, saw the ponderous instrument, with its 
glittering edge, glide upon its deadly mission, 
and the decapitated trunk of her friend was 
thrown aside to give place for her. With a 
pkcid countenance and a buoyant step, she as- 
cended the platform. The guillotine was erected 
upon the vacant spot between the gardens 



260 MADAME ROLAND. 

of the Tuileries and the Elysian Eields, then 
known, as the Place de la Eevolution. This 
spot is now called the Place de la Concorde. 
It is unsurpassed by any other place in Europe. 
Two marble fountains now embellish the spot. 
The blood-stained guillotine, from which crim- 
son rivulets were ever flowing, then occupied 
the space upon which one of these fountains has 
been erected ; and a clay statue to Liberty reared 
its hypocritical front where the Egyptian obelisk 
now rises. Madame Poland stood for a mo- 
ment upon the elevated platform, looked calm- 
ly around upon the vast concourse, and then 
bowing before the colossal statue, exclaimed, 
*' Liberty,! Liberty ! how many crimes are 
committed in thy name.-" She surrendered her- 
self to the executioner, and was bound to the 
plank. The plank fell to its horizontal posi- 
tion, bringing her head under the fatal ax. 
The glittering steel glided through the groove, 
and the head of Madame Roland was severed 
from her body. 

Thus died Madame Roland, in the thirty- 
ninth year of her age. Her death oppressed all 
who had known her with the deepest grief. 
Her intimate friend Buzot, who was then a fu- 
gitive, on hearing the tidings, was thrown into a 
state of perfect delirium, from which he did not 
recover for many days. Her faithful female 
servant was so overwhelmed with grief that she 



TRIAL AND EXECUTION. 261 

presented herself before the tribunal, and im- 
plored them to let her die upon the same scaf- 
fold where her beloved mistress had perished. 
The tribunal, amazed at such transports of 
attachment, declared that she was mad, and 
ordered her to be removed from their presence. 
A man-servant made the same application, and 
was sent to the guillotine. 

The grief of M. Roland, when apprised of the 
event, was unbounded. For a time he entirely 
lost his senses. Life to him was no longer en- 
durable. He knew not of any consolations of 
religion. Philosophy could only nerve him t© 
stoicism. Privately he left, by night, the kind 
friends who had hospitably concealed him for six 
months, and wandered to such a distance from 
his asylum as to secure his protectors from any 
danger on his account. Through the long hours 
of the winter^s night he coiitinued his dreary 
walk, till the first gray of the morning appeared 
in the east. Drawing a long stiletto from the 
inside of his walking-stick, he placed the head 
of it against the trunk of a tree, and threw him- 
self upon the sharp weapon. The point pierced 
his heart, and he fell lifeless upon the frozen 
ground. Some peasants passing by discovered 
his body. A piece of paper was pinned to the 
breast of his coat, upon which there were written 
these words : '^ Whoever thou art that findest 
these remains, respect them as those of a virtu- 



262 



MADAME ROLAND. 



ous man. After hearing of my wife's death, I 
would not stay another day in a world so stained 
with crime/' 

The daughter of Madame Eoland succeeded 
in escaping the fury of the tyrants of the Rev- 
olution. She lived surrounded by kind protec- 







=.J^>^^^^^^[^j^^^^jl^ 'itBmlF'^^^^i 


fi^^s^^m^m^^mag^ai^^ 


^^^y^^BP^If^gB^^)^^^IO^al^m^^^^^-^^B 





Finding the Dead Body of M. Roland, 
tors, and in subsequent years was married to 
M. Champeneaux, the son of one of her mother's 
intimate friends. 

Such was the wonderful career of Madame 
Roland. It is a history full of instruction, and 
ever reminds us that truth is stranger than 
fiction. 



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old fashioned twaddle that went under the name of English his- 
tory. He thereupon wrote a book, in his own peculiarly happy 
style, primarily for the educational advantage of his own children, 
but was prevailed upon to publish the work, and make its use gen- 
eral. Its success was instantaneous and abiding. 

BLACK BEAUTY; The Autobiography of a Horse. By 
Anna Sewell. With 50 illustrations. 

This NEW ILLUSTRATED EDITION is sure to command attention. 
Wherever children are, whether boys or girls, there this Autobiog- 
raphy should be. It inculcates habits of kindness to all members 
of the animal creation. The liteiary merit of the bo jk is excellent, 

THE ARABIAN NIGHTS' ENTERTAINMENTS. With 
50 illustrations. Contains the most favorably known of 
the stories. 

The text is somewhat abridged and edited for the young. It 
forms an excellent introduction to those immortal tales which have 
helped so long to keep th^ weary world young. 



ALTEMUS' YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. 



ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES. By Hans Christian An- 
dersen. With 77 illustrations. 

The spirit of high moral teaching, and the delicacy of sentiment, 
feeling and expression that pervade these tales make these won- 
derful creations not only attractive to the young, but equally accept- 
able to those of mature years, who are able to understand their 
real significance and appreciate the depth of their meaning. 

GRIMM'S FAIRY TALES. With 50 illustrations. 

These tales of the Brothers Grimm have carried their names into 
every household of the civilized world. 

The Tales are a wonderful collection, as interesting, from a lit- 
erary point of view, as they are delightful as stories. 

GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR; A History for Youth. By 
Nathaniel Hawthorne. With 60 illustrations. 

The story of America from the landing of the Puritans to the 
acknowledgjitent without reserve of the Independence of the 
United States, told with all the elegance, simph city, grace, clear- 
ness and force for which Hawthorne is conspicuously noted. 

FLOWER FABLES. By Louisa May Alcott. With colored 
and plain illustrations. 

A series of very interesting fairy tales by the most charming of 
American story-tellers. 

AUNT MARTHA'S CORNER CUPBOARD. By Mary 
and Elizabeth Kirby. With 60 illustrations. 

Stories about Tea, Coffee, Sugar, Rice and Chinaware, and 
other accessories of the well-kept Cupboard. A book full of in- 
terest for all the girls and many of the boys. 

WATER-BABIES; A Fairy Tale for a Land-Baby. By 
Charles Kingsley. With 94 illustrations. 

*' Come read me my riddle, each good little man ; 
If you cannot read it, no grown-up folk can." 

BATTLES OF THE WAR FOR INDEPENDENCE. By 
Prescott Holmes. With 70 illustrations. 

A graphic and full history of the RebelHon of the American Col- 
onies from the yoke and oppression of England, with the causes 



ALTEMUS* YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. 



that led thereto, and including an account of the second war with 
Great Britain, and the War with Mexico. 

BATTLES OF THE WAR FOR THE UNION. By 
Prescott Holmes. With 80 illustrations. 

A correct and impartial account of the greatest civil war in the 
annals of history. Both of these histories of American wars are 
a necessary part of the education of all intelligent American boys 
and girls. 

YOUNG PEOPLE'S HISTORY OF THE WAR WITH 
SPAIN. By Prescott Holmes. With 89 illustrations. 

This history of our war with Spain, in 1S98, presents in a plain, 
easy style the splendid achievements of our army and"navy, and 
the prominent figures that came into the public view during that 
period. Its glowing descriptions, wealth of anecdote, accuracy cf 
statement and profusion of illustration make it a most desirable 
gift-book for young readers. 

HEROES OF THE UNITED STATES NAVY. By 
Hartwell James. With 65 illustrations. 

The story of our navy is one of the most brilliant pages in the 
world's history. The sketches and exploits contained in this vol- 
ume cover our entire naval history from the days of the honest, 
rough sailors of Revolutionary times, with their cutlasses and 
boarding pike?, to the brief war of 1898, when our superbly ap- 
pointed warships destroyed Spain's proud cruisers by the merci- 
less accuracy of their fire. 

MILITARY HEROES OF THE UNITED STATES. 
By Hartwell James. With 97 illustrations. 

In this volume the brave lives and heroic deeds c four military 
heroes, from Paul Revere to Lawton, are told in the most captiva- 
ting manner. The material for the work has been gathered from 
the North and the Sou.h alike. The volume presents all the im- 
portant facts in a manner enabling the young people of our united 
and prosperous land to easily become familiar with the command- 
ing figures that have arisen in our military history. 

UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; or Life Among the Lowly. By 
Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe. With 90 illustrations. 



ALTEMUS* YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. 



The unfailing interest in the famous old story suggested the need 
of an edition specially prepared for young readers, and elaborately 
illustrated. This edition completely fills that want. 

SEA KINGS AND NAVAL HEROES. By Hartwell 
James. With 50 illustrations. 

The most famous sea battles of the world, with sketches of the 
lives, enterprises and achievements of men who have become fam- 
ous in naval history. They are stories of brave lives in times of 
trial and danger, charmingly told for young people. 

POOR BOYS' CHANCES. By John Habberton. With 
50 illustrations. 

There is a fascination about the writings of the author of 
" Helen's Babies," from which none can escape. In this charm- 
ing \olume, Mr. Habberton tells the boys of America how they 
can attain the highest positions in the land, without the struggles 
and privations endured by poor boys who rose to eminence and 
fame in former limes. 

ROMULUS, the Founder of Rome. By Jacob Abbott. 
With 49 illustrations. 

In a plain and connected narrative, the author tells the stories 
of the founder of Rome and his great ancestor, yEneas. These 
are of necessity sumewhat legendary in character, but are pre- 
sented precisely as they have come down to us from ancient times. 
They are prefaced by an account of the life and inventions of Cad- 
mus, the " Father of the Alphabet," as he is often called. 

CYRUS THE GREAT, the Founder of the Persian Empire. 
By Jacob Abbott. With 40 illustrations. 

For nineteen hundred years, the story of the founder of the an- 
cient Persian empire has been read by every generation of man- 
kind. The story of the life and actions of Cyrus, as told by the 
author, presents vivid pictures of the magnificence of a monarchy 
that rose about five hundred years before the Christian era, and 
rolled on in undisturbed magnitude and glory for many centuries. 

ADVENTURES IN TOYLAND. By Edith King Hull. 
With 70 illustrations by Alice B. Woodward. 

The sayings and doings of the dwellers in toyland, related by 
one of them to a dear little girl. It is a delightful book for chil- 
dren, and admirably illustrated. 



ALTEMUS* YOUNG PEOPLE*S LIBRARY. 



DARIUS THE GREAT, King of the Medes and Persians. 
By Jacob Abbott. With 34 illustrations. 

No great exploits marked the career of this monarch, who was 
at one time the absolute sovereign of nearly one-half of the world. 
He reached his high position by a stratagem, and left behind him 
no strong impressions of personal character, yet, the history of his 
life and reign should be read along with those of Cyrus, Caesar, 
Hannibal and Alexander. 

XERXES THE GREAT, King of Persia. By Jacob Ab- 
bott. With 39 illustrations. 

For ages the name of Xerxes has been associated in the minds 
of men with the idea of the highest attainable human magnificence 
and grandeur. He was the sovereign of the ancient Persian em- 
pire at the height of its prosperity and power. The invasion of 
Greece by the Persian hordes, the battle of Thermopylae, the burn- 
ing of Athens, and the defeat of the Persian galleys at Salamis are 
chapters of thrilling interest. 

THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE. By Miss 
Mulock, author of John Halifax, Gentleman, etc. With 
18 illustrations. 

One of the best of Miss Murlock's charming stories for children. 
All the situations are amusing and are sure to please youthful 
readers. 

ALEXANDER THE GREAT, King of Macedon. By 
Jacob Abbott. With 51 illustrations. 

Born heir to the throne of Macedon, a country on the confines 
of Europe and Asia, Alexander crowded into a brief career of 
twelve years a brilliant series of exploits. The readers of to-day 
will find pleasure and profit in the history of Alexander the Great, 
a potentate before whom ambassadors and princes from nearly all 
the nations of the earth bowed in humihty. 

PYRRHUS, King of Epirus. By Jacob Abbott. With 45 
illustrations. 

The story of Pyrrhus is one of the ancient narratives which has 
been told and retold for many centuries in the literature, eloquence 
and poetry of all civilized nations. While possessed of extraordi- 
nary ability as a military leader, Pyrrhus actually accomplished 
nothing, but did mischief on a gigantic scale. He was naturally 



ALTEMUS* YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. 



of a noble and generous spirit, but only succeded in perpetrating 
crimes against the peace and welfare of mankind. 

HANNIBAL, the Carthaginian. By Jacob Abbott. With 
37 illustrations. 

Hannibal's distinction as a warrior was gained during the des- 
perate contests between Rome and Carthage, known as the Punic 
wars. Entering the scene when his country was engaged in peace- 
ful traffic with the various countries of the known world, he turned 
its energies into military aggression, conquest and war, becoming 
himself one of the greatest military heroes the world has ever 
known. 

MIXED PICKLES. By Mrs. E. M. Field. With 31 illus- 
trations by T. Pym. 

A remarkably entertaining story for young people. The reader 
is introduced to a charming little girl whose mishaps while trying 
to do good are very appropriately termed " Mixed Pickles." 

JULIUS C^SAR, the Roman Conqueror. By Jacob Ab- 
bott. With 44 illustrations. 

The life and actions of Julius Caesar embrace a period in Roman 
history beginning with the civil wars of Marius and Sylla and end- 
ing with the tragic death of Caesar Imperator. The work is an 
accurate historical account of the life and times of one of the great 
military figures in history, in fact, it is history itself, and as such is 
especially commended to the readers of the present generation. 

ALFRED THE GREAT, of England. By Jacob Abbott. 
With 40 illustrations. 

In a certain sense, Alfred appears in history as the founder of 
the British monarchy : his predecessors having governed more like 
savage chieftains than English kings. The w^ork has a special 
value for young readers, for the character of Alfred was that of an 
honest, conscientious and far-seeing statesman. The romantic 
story of Godwin furnishes the concluding chapter of the volume. 

WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR, of England. By Jacob 
Abbott. With 43 illustrations. 

The life and times of William of Normandy have always been a 
fruitful theme for the historian. War and pillage and conquest 
•were a^ least a part of the everyday business of men in both Eng- 



lO ALTEMUS* YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. 

land and France : and the story of William as told by the author 
of this volume makes some of the most fascinating page-, ia his- 
tory. It is especially delightful to young reader-;. 

liERNANDO CORTEZ, the Conqueror of Mexico. By 
Jacob Abbott. With 30 illustrations. 

In this volume the author gives vivid pictures of the wild and 
adventurous career of Cortez and his companions in the conque>t 
of Mexico. Many good motives were united with those of ques- 
tionable character, in the prosecution of his enterprise, but in 
those days it was a matter of national ambition to enlarge the 
boundaries of nations and to extend their commerce at any cost. 
The career of Cortez is one of absorbing interest. 

THE LITTLE LAME PRINCE. By Miss Mulock. With 
24 illustrations. 

The author styles it "A Parable for Old and Young." It is in her 
happiest vein and delightfully interesting, especially to youthful 
readers. 

MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. By Jacob Abbott. With 
45 illustrations. 

The story of Mary Stuart holds a prominent place in the present 
series of historical narrations. It has had many tellings, for the 
melancholy story of the unfortunate queen has always held a high 
place in the estimation of successive generations of readers. Her 
story is full of romance and pathos, and the reader is carried along 
by conflicting emotions of wonder and sympathy. 

QUEEN ELIZABETH, of England. By Jacob Abbott. 
With 49 illustrations. 

In strong contrast to the story of Mary, Queen of Scots, is that 
of Elizabeth, Queen of England. They were cousins, yet im- 
placable foes. Elizabeth's reign was in many ways a glorious one, 
and her successes gained her the applause of the world. The 
stirring tales of Drake, Hawkins and other famous mariners of 
her lime have been incorporated into the story of Elizabeth's life 
and reign. 

KING CHARLES THE FIRST, of England. By Jacob 
Abbott. With 41 illustrations. 

The well-known figures in the stormy reign of Charles I. are 
brought forward in this narrative of his life and times. It is his- 
tory told in the most fascinating manner, and embraces the early 



^ BD-8a 



ALTEMUS* YOUNG PEOPLE* S LIBRARY. II 



life of Charles ; the court of James I.; struggles between Charles 
and the Parliament ; the Civil war ; the trial and execution of the 
king. The narrative is impartial and holds the attention of the 
reader. 

KING CHARLES THE SECOND, of England. By Jacob 
Abbott. With 38 illustrations. 

Beginning with his infancy, the life of the ♦* Merry Monarch " 
is related in the author's inimitable style. His reign was signal- 
ized by many disastrous events, besides those that related to his 
personal troubles and embarrassments. There were unfortunate 
wars ; naval defeats ; dangerous and disgraceful plots and con- 
SDiracies. Trobule sat very lightly on the shoulders of Charles II., 
however, and the cares of state were easily forgotten in the society 
of his court and dogs, 

THE SLEEPY KING. By Aubrey Hopwood and Seymour 
Hicks. With 7 7 illustrations by Maud Trelawney. 

A charmingly-told Fairy Tale, full of delight and entertain- 
ment. The illustrations are original and strikmg, adding greatly 
to the interest of the text. 

MARIA ANTOINETTE, Queen of France. By John S. C. 
Abbott. With 42 illustrations. 

The tragedy of Maria Antoinette is one of the most mournful in 
the history of the world. "Her beauty dazzled the whole king- 
dom," says Lamartine. Her lofty and unbending spirit under 
unspeakable indignities and atrocities, enlists and holds the sympa- 
thies of the readers of to-day, as it has done in the past. 

MADAME ROLAND, A Heroine of the French Revolution. 
By Jacob Abbott. With 42 illustrations. 

The French Revolution developed few, if any characters more 
worthy of notice than that of Madame Roland. The absence of 
playmates, in her youth, inspired her with an insatiate thirst for 
knowledge, and books became her constant companions in every 
unoccupied hour. She fell a martyr to the tyrants of the French 
Revolution, but left behind her a career full of instruction that 
never fails to impress itself upon the reader. 

JOSEPHINE, Empress of France. By Jacob Abbott. With 
40 illustrations. 



12 ALTEMUS* YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. 

Maria Antoinette beheld the dawn of the French Revolution ; 
Madame Roland perished under the lurid glare of its high noon ; 
Josephine saw it fade into darkness. She has been called the 
*' Star of Napoleon ; " and it is certain that she added luster to 
his brilliance, and that her persuasive influence was often exerted 
to win a friend or disarm an adversary. The lives of the Empress 
Josephine, of Maria Antoinette, and of Madame Roland are 
especially commended to young lady readers. 

TALES FROM SHAKESPEARE. By Charles and Mary 
Lamb. With 80 illustrations. 

The text is somewhat abridged and edited for young people, but 
a clear and definite outline of each play is presented. Such episodes 
or incidental sketches of character as are not absolutely necessary 
to the development of the tales are omitted, while the many moral 
lessons that lie in Shakespeare's plays and make them valuable in 
the training of the young are retained. The b 10k is winnmg, help- 
ful and an effectual guide to the "inner shrine" of the great 
dramatist. 

MAKERS OF AMERICA. By Hartwell James. With 75 
' illustrations. 

This volume contains attractive and suggestive sketches of the 
lives and deeds of men who illustrated some special phase in the 
political, religious or social life of our country, from its settlement 
to the close of the eighteenth century. It affords an opportunity 
for young readers to become easily familiar with these characters 
and their historical relations to the building of our Republic. An 
account of the discovery of America prefaces the work. 

A WONDER BOOK FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. By 
Nathaniel Hawthorne. With 50 illustrations. 

In this volume the genius of Hawthorne has shaped anew 
wonder tales that have been hallowed by an antiquity of two or 
three thousand years. Seeming " never to have been made" they 
are legitimate subjects for every age to clothe with its own fancy 
as to manners and sentiment, and its own views of morality. The 
volume has a charm fo - old and young alike, for the author has 
not thought it necessary to ** write downward " in order to meet 
the comprehension of children. 


















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